


Primal

by velociraptors



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Biting, Blood, Cameos, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Violence, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7719448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velociraptors/pseuds/velociraptors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe where Shiro is a werewolf, and Keith is an angry high school student. This is the story of how they meet and eventually form a bond with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I-IV

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by this lovely fanart: ( http://komoh.tumblr.com/post/148203978961 ) I was driven to write this, trying to imagine the story behind it. Then it got quite long and rambly. I apologize for that!

**I.**

 

The sun's last rays lick over the forest as it sets, trees doused in orange and red hues just as the flaming center starts to sink below the horizon. Keith feels the heat tickle the exposed skin on the back of his neck, whispers of it treading over the surface as he remains entranced by the heavy vibration between his legs. His motorcycle takes every turn with merciless speed, increasing the velocity to a break-neck point, and he knows it's dangerous but he immerses himself in the sudden jump in his heart rate, the way adrenaline starts to infuse his entire body with an extra degree of heightened awareness. But this is the only way he knows how to ride. He's not careless. He knows what this bike can handle and how much his body can stay on the precipice between fear and exhilaration and not crash. He focuses on keeping his center of gravity firm with each new turn, only tilting the handlebars enough to stop himself from tipping over entirely, and through it all, he tastes the fresh air on his tongue and inhales the smell of pine as he loses himself further down the highway.

It's empty for the most part, not a car in sight, leaving him alone to whatever scant thoughts flit through his mind, usually about the school work he'll have to trudge through later, the missed calls from his caseworker on his phone, or what new repairs he should be making on his shack. On some level, he knows he should take care of it all -should take care of himself-, but it's easier not to think at all. Moments like these are few and far between, and he misses indulging in the fantasy of being unchained like this forever, letting his cares fly away with each turn, leaving them to disintegrate in the wind. 

If he could just lose himself in this moment forever, he'd be happy. No more guys coming up to him at school, standing in his face with idle threats, no adults nagging him that he needs to stop running away all the time, no more empty fridges, dripping faucets, memories of being moved from foster home to foster home, always being told to his face that he's too young, too old, too Asian, too male, too troublesome, too expensive to fix. 

As far as he's concerned, there's nothing to him to fix. He's _fine_ like this, living on his own, taking care of himself like he always had. No one to return him, no one to curse him out, no one to blame their marital problems on him. None of it to haunt him or keep him awake at night. He doesn't know what his caseworker means that he needs to go out and interact all the time with other people his age. Who cares? What does she even know? 

His mind is suddenly sharply reeled back into the present as he he hears his bike make some sort of distressed coughing noise on the next turn. 

_'That can't be good.'_

He starts to decelerate, feeling the vibrations of his bike slow down to a shuddering lurch that makes Keith's face twist into a frown as he navigates it towards the curb. There isn't a rest stop for miles or a gasoline station, but at least he's close to home. About ten minutes… on bike, that is. 

He tries to will it to make it that far, squeezing the throttle to get it going only to be met with the same coughing noise. 

"Come on," he practically growls out just before climbing off the bike to give it a swift kick, "Don't do this to me! We're almost there!" 

The bike's only response is to turn off completely in indignant refusal. 

_'What. Gives?'_

Keith's teeth clench together, wondering what even happened to it. There should be enough gas in it. He also gave it a full tune up the other day. How could it be malfunctioning on him like this? It doesn't make any damn sense. 

Of course, his own natural solution is to keep kicking at it as though that can somehow spontaneously bring it back to life. His leg hurts, but he digs it into the side of the motorcycle because he has to take out his anger on _something._

"What's the matter with you?!" he keeps yelling, uncaring if he's alone or not. 

Well, he's pretty sure he's alone. He doesn't hear any cars at all, and he's so far away from any main roads that he's nowhere near any street lights either. Everything will be pitch black soon, a realization that sinks to the pit of his stomach while he tries to figure out what to do. Maybe he can call a tow truck or his caseworker or -if he really loses his mind out here- Lance. 

No, he's not resorting to that yet. A tow truck will do. 

His fingers reach out for the cell phone in his jacket pocket, a used flip phone from ten years ago that his classmates always tease him about owning. It's functional so what does he care? It's not like he has any need to text anyone at all nor does he care about gaming apps or whatever. There's only a handful of phone numbers he even knows anyway, most from people he doesn't even like to talk to that much. He just keeps them around for emergencies like this. 

His thumb quickly pounds on the 0-key, hoping to reach an operator only to realize that he doesn't even have a single bar lit up.

"You've got to be kidding me! How do I not have service?!" 

He usually stocks up on those pre-paid cards, but maybe it's just the location that's messing with his reception. Now, he's starting to regret he didn't invest in 4G or whatever Lance is always going on about. It's not like it had ever been a problem before. 

Maybe there's a pay phone somewhere he can use… but he can't leave his bike here unattended either. Someone might steal it, and it's not a terrible bike. Yeah, it's old. Yeah, it makes weird coughing noises from time to time. Yeah, it just died a little. But it's _functional_ , and he's poured a lot of hours into fixing it up and keeping it going way past its expiration date. They've had some pretty tough times together, too. He's not going to abandon it just like that. 

His only recourse is to push it along the highway and hope a pick-up truck finds him or hope that a pay phone appears out of thin air. Are there even any pay phones left in the world? Guess it's time to find out.

His gloved hands rest on the handlebars, moving the bike slowly as he stares at the disappearing sun. The skies are already dark enough that he's having trouble making out some of the trees around them, watching the branches fade with the shadows that hug them inwards from every direction. Only the sounds of the forest -chirping, croaking, squawking- remind him that it's even there, though his heart stills when he hears some quiet growling. It's a soft rumble that moves along his spine, filling his skin with goosebumps the more the landscape around him is absorbed into an endless shadow. 

He picks up his phone to use the faint light to at least provide him with some illumination as he moves one step in front of the other. Still no sound of any cars. Still no signal. But that growling follows him, and Keith tries to remind himself of all the things he read in grade school about wild animals. 

_'They don't attack unless provoked. They smell fear. They mark their territory. They hunt in packs…'_

That honestly isn't helping at all, but bears and wolves usually go after smaller prey, don't they? Things like rabbits and fawn. They'd be more scared of him than he is of them because of his size, right? 

A howl rips through the night air, tearing through the silence in its shrill ferocity, and Keith's whole body forgets to move as his breath stills right in his throat. It aches where the air is trapped, pushing up into his larynx while he reminds himself that wolves are shy around people and will go out of their way to avoid them. All he has to do is not engage.

He whispers that to himself like a mantra, lips moving in succession as he struggles to keep his breathing easy. For a moment, it works, and he focuses on walking or at least finding a safe place to stash himself until morning. But the howling erupts just a few meters west of him, the sound of it rippling outwards in a rising crescendo, and he realizes only belatedly that it's a signal for others to come. 

_'They've found prey.'_

His legs move before his mind even registers them, hearing their feet smack against the leaves and twigs. Keith's lungs burn as he races away, dropping the bike noisily next to the road. It's all a matter of reflex, pushing him to survive even if he knows this is the stupidest thing to do. Chasing incites their hunting instinct, chasing makes them _want._ They now see him as a food source on legs, zipping through the trees relentlessly, but Keith has a cushy position on the track team -first place sprinter in last year's regional competition. He's unmatched on two legs, so he pushes himself with his life on the balance, running though he can hear them gaining. 

If he stops, he's dead. That's all he can fixate on as he jumps over logs and pushes past branches, feet moving through a large puddle before he's even aware its there. He ignores the dampness that hugs his legs and just keeps forcing himself to run until his chest burns and his muscles scream in agony.

There's a reason he was only a sprinter: low stamina.

He can reach amazing speeds, but it's all expended too quickly. He has no self-control, and he'll pay for never training himself to have any as his back collides with the tree bark behind him. 

The pack surrounds him, all tri-colored wolves with their teethes bared. Only one approaches closer than the rest -the alpha, he assumes. Its pale eyes fixate on him, gazing at him with calculated interest. There is definitely something in there, hidden beneath all the fur. This animal isn't crazed with hunger but meticulous. 

Its growl rumbles low in its throat, hidden beneath the sound of Keith's own wild panting as he tries to melt into the bark, willing it to surround and protect him before he becomes wolf food. If the branches were just a bit lower, he could even swing himself up on them, but these trees are old and high, impossible to climb. 

What are his last thoughts going to be? He thinks of his caseworker again -the constantly worried Allura with her exasperated eyes. He thinks of Lance trying to challenge him to an arm wrestling match the other day to impress some girl nearby. He thinks of Hunk falling out of his chair when he dozed off in study hall. He thinks of his tiny wooden shack and that still-overflowing toilet. He thinks of the bike he haggled some junk shop owner with and how proud he felt fixing it up. If it's not stolen, then who knows what will happen to it? 

Will anyone even bother looking for his remains here? _Will anyone even miss him?_

His eyes grow wet at the thought, not sure why it even matters or why he cares? That was the beauty of being alone, wasn't it? Not being anyone's responsibility, only being responsible for himself.

Pain explodes through his arm the next second, a wolf latching onto it, and he feels the canines dig deep in, smells the blood as it starts to flow out in rivulets. It aches but not as much as the other wolf trying to bite through his leather boots. He wants to scream, but his voice had frozen in his throat long ago. He can hear the blood starting to rush into his ears as panic swells up everywhere along his nerve endings, making the pain all too real.

However, the sensation of being feasted on by so many mouths is gone before it even has a chance to really start. Whimpering erupts from every corner all around him, and Keith can barely see through the night's shroud to figure out what's happening. He only hears the scuffles, the cries and whines. One by one, the dogs start to run with only the stench of blood left in their wake, and Keith tries to fixate on what's in front of him, unaware of how close it is until its hot breath touches his face.

Slowly, his arm rises, remembering all too belatedly he'd been clutching his phone this whole time, clinging to it in lieu of losing it even if it seemed like a senseless worry in the wake of being eaten to death. It doesn't matter as he uses it right now to look at the _thing_ in front of him.

He doesn't realize his fingers are shaking until he tries to hold the light steady, and there, inches from his face, he fixates on two grey eyes looking calmly back in his direction. They'd be beautiful if not for the fact that they are currently attached to the biggest wolf Keith has ever seen. It's practically the size of a horse, imposing and majestic, and it has a huge vertical scar across its large snout. There's a tuff of white fur jutting out amidst a sea of black, hanging between its brow ridge and patches of lighter grey fur on its chest and running along its belly. 

In spite of his current fear of dying, Keith doesn't move at all, thinking that  sudden movements might make it angry somehow. Instead, he tries to inhale and paste himself back against the tree, forcing his lungs not to breathe in too much oxygen while the wolf sniffs the air around him. It stops on the arm that had been bitten into, and for a second, Keith thinks it's going to finish the job the other wolf started, but it doesn't.

It taps its nose against his skin instead, trying to get him to move it further away from where he'd been cradling it to his stomach just so it can lick it gently. It reminds him of the way he'd seen cats in the alley lick the eyes of their newborns, softly and carefully. Its tongue is also warm and soothing even if, objectively, Keith knows its probably full of bacteria and not something he should be putting on an open wound. 

Even so, the pain ebbing through that arm seems to fade a little, and his muscles start to relax minutely, unhinging one by one while he remembers how to move again. 

"Nice doggie," he brings himself to whisper, "you're not going to kill me, are you?" 

It might be just his fear-crazed imagination, but the wolf looks like it had shaken its head at that before resuming licking his arm clean. It then lifts its head to nuzzle the side of his face, which is a surprise with it being a giant wolf and all. Keith isn't sure why it _wouldn't_ want to use him as a plentiful food source. If he could barely outrun the small ones, he has no chance against this giant. 

"I'm going to move now, okay? Just stay calm…" 

Words he never thought he'd be delivering, considering everyone else is always telling him to calm down, but he's not a giant predator. 

His body shifts away from the tree, keeping the dim light of his phone trained on the wolf as he starts to move. He almost trips on something on the ground, barely catching himself, and he shifts the light to see just what it is before his stomach lurches fast in response. It's the alpha from before except now it's covered in blood with its entrails exposed. This big wolf must have done it… 

"Y-you saved me?" 

Keith's eyes widen as he looks back and forth between the two wolves, unable to imagine _why_. Wolves aren't exactly known for their stunning amounts of generosity to other species, and this big guy(?) doesn't look particularly domesticated. It doesn't have a collar for one thing. It definitely looks really smart, though, as he can swear it keeps nodding to him. 

"Sorry, I don't have a treat to thank you with." 

Not that it doesn't stop him from pawing at his pockets, thinking he might have at least stowed away a snack at some point. Doesn't seem that way. How else should he thank it? 

His hand reaches out awkwardly after switching his phone to the injured one, and he hovers it near the wolf's snout, still feeling uncertain about this. He doesn't know if he can trust it not to bite him, but its eyes don't particularly look feral. Unlike the other small wolf that had seemed to be dissecting him when he stared at him, this one just seems curious, maybe even a little concerned if he's being hopeful.

"Can I?" he asks quietly, and the question sounds stupid out loud even to himself. Why is he asking for permission?

Nevertheless, the wolf obediently bows it head for him, and his fingers comb through the patch of white hair before feeling around its ears. Its fur is surprisingly soft instead of coarse, and there's an overpowering scent that rolls off its body, something musky and strange that makes Keith want to bury his nose a little closer in his mane except that would be weird. And suicidal. 

Instead, his fingertips comb down its fur as the wolf leans forward to sniff his neck in return. He feels its warm tongue unfurl and push against his skin, licking him lightly before giving him another lick on his cheek that tickles him enough to make him laugh. The sound is subdued but genuine, and Keith can feel himself calming down immeasurably from the affection. 

"Easy there, come on now… you're just a big dog, aren't you?" 

Its tail wags high, swinging like a pendulum as it pushes its snout to Keith's cheek again. It lets out a huff before sitting in front of him to regard him in interest. He's pretty cute for a giant, though Keith would never say he's much of a dog person. He's never bothered owning a pet before, though he's lived with foster families that had dogs. He usually ignored them, and they ignored him. That's always the way it had been, but this wolf …call him crazy, but he feels like there's a connection. A weird sort of understanding between them.

Yeah, it definitely sounds nuts even tossing it around in his head, and maybe, it's the blood loss or fear-induced delirium. He also knows temperatures around here drop pretty low at nights, so maybe this is the fevered thought of a man who's going to either be eaten out in the wild or killed by hypothermia.

That's probably an exaggeration. It's early fall, after all, and Keith's always been pretty good at surviving shitty situations. His whole life had been one giant shitty situation. Meeting a large, friendly wolf is probably going to end up being the highlight of it. 

"Well, it doesn't look like I'll find my bike again in the dark… I don't even know how far I am from the highway now." 

He'd run blindly without thinking about what direction he was going in, so it's likely his bike is lost somewhere forever. His phone still has no bars, and there's absolutely no one around. How the hell is he ever going to get home? 

The wolf seems to sense his distress because its tapping his shoulder with its snout. Keith has only a few seconds to register what it's doing as he watches it lower its front half to the ground like it's inviting him to climb on. 

"Oh no… I'm not riding you. You're a wolf, not a horse!" 

As if that reasoning really makes sense. Rather, it'd make less sense to _not_ ride it and to stay here and get eaten. What other choices does he really have? It's either trust the big wild animal or die out alone in the cold. 

"…fine. But don't tell anyone about this." 

The wolf's tail seems to respond with some degree of amusement as it swings from side to side. Keith just hopes he doesn't regret this, climbing onto its back and holding onto its fur for purchase. From even up close, he can smell that peculiar scent from before as it curls underneath his nose. It's as strong as it is soothing, and he wonders if that's just the way wolves smell or if this one was rolling around on top of a spice rack earlier. What does he know about wolves? He'd only ever seen them in pictures before today. 

His fingers immediately tighten their hold on its fur as it takes off running, its nose sniffing around wildly as the road starts to come into view. Naturally, it's able to smell its way back to his bike, too, making Keith wonder just how sharp his wolf senses are. They must have been at least half a mile way, yet it had bee-lined straight back to it. Keith's never been more relieved to see that piece of junk in his whole life, and he hops off the wolf's back to pick up his bike once more.

"I know it's stupid to be attached to it, but it's mine." 

That's the explanation he gives the wolf, unsure why he even needs to provide that bit of information. What does the wolf care? Its only concerns are finding regular meals and sleeping. Occasionally, mating too, he guesses. With another giant wolf.

His head shakes lightly, chalking this whole night to one big fevered dream that he'll eventually forget. He's still no good with animals, and wolves aren't pets. He doesn't expect this one to stick around too long, especially since wolves aren't fond of humans, which makes him wonder why he'd stepped in to save him. It goes against everything he knows about a wolf's instinct.

His hands wrap around the handlebars as he ignores the pain still blooming from the wound on his arm. It's not debilitating, and he doesn't think he needs stitches. He should probably get it checked out at some clinic to make sure it doesn't get infected with some weird disease or that he doesn't end up with rabies. Not like most people at school don't already call him rabid anyway. He knows he has an awful temper, but he's never particularly considered it uncontrollable. He has his limits. 

The telltale tapping of soft paws follow closely behind him as Keith starts to push his bike once more. At first, he tries to convince himself he's hearing things and that the wolf is long gone, but one quick glance over his shoulder makes it obvious he's far from alone. Instead, the wolf's imposing figure looms over him like a shadow, though there's no malice there in its expression. No bared teeth, no narrowed eyes, no growling. 

"I'll be fine," Keith tells it, half-turning to make a shooing gesture with his hand, "I can make it home without you. In fact, it'd be better if you get off the road before you end up as road kill." 

The wolf's so big that he doesn't think a car could run over it easily, but he still doesn't want to be responsible for it getting killed by some crazed lunatic driver. He deserves a more noble death than that. 

The steps continue to echo with each of his own even as Keith tries to walk a bit faster, hoping the wolf gets the idea. This is where he goes home. They part ways. They say goodbye. Keith isn't a dog-person, and wolves belong out in the wild doing their own thing. He doesn't _need_ a damn pet.

"I'm heading home now, so you can just …go away. Go over there." 

His fingers point vaguely towards the forest, though this only makes the wolf speed up enough so that it's walking next to him instead of behind him. Its head turns to look at him rather pointedly, making Keith once again ponder the degree of its intelligence and how much it might understand him at the moment. Either way, it doesn't look like it's going to give up anytime soon and go back to its pack, home, wherever it came from.

Its insistence on following him starts to piss him off after a few minutes where it just remains intent on accompanying him even though it'd be hours of walking. He knows for a wolf that's practically nothing, but Keith still doesn't get the whole protective nature of this one wolf and why it's decided to fixate that on him. 

It. makes. no. freaking. sense. 

His body halts as he turns to face the wolf fully, ignoring that the action causes his bike to fall over on its side. It's already a piece of junk, so there's no big loss there. 

"Go away! Stop following me! Do your wolf things!!" 

Both of his hands push into the wolf's side, angrily trying to direct it to the forest even if he recognizes that pissing it off is probably the worst idea ever. It doesn't matter. He's not taking it all the way home. He's not keeping it. It's not his. It's a _wolf_ for crying out loud! 

His hands flop down miserably after a few seconds of fighting with the wolf's weight. It had been like trying to push a wrecking ball with his bare hands, and he hadn't even made it flinch. Just how heavy is this thing? 

It doesn't matter. He's tired, and he's getting sleepy. He doesn't know how much longer he has to walk to reach his house, but it doesn't feel like he'll get there in one night. Maybe he should wait until it's light outside to keep traveling. 

His voice dissolves into a defeated groan, and he only picks the bike back up to rest it against a tree before collapsing next to it. There really is no easy way out of this, and he'll be lucky if he makes it alive at this rate. At least, the wolf still hasn't scampered off yet, and while he wants to be mad at it for being so eerily devoted to him in such a short amount of time, he's secretly grateful. He likes the presence of another warm body there, and he feels safer knowing its around.

Tiredness covers his body like a blanket, weighing his limbs down heavily, and his eyes drop shut while he tries to ignore the ache in all his limbs. He'll feel it even more in the morning, but for now, he just can't handle it anymore. This whole situation is stupid, and he hates it. 

Both hands cradle his face as he tips back, and he's barely aware when the wolf comes to lie next to him on its haunches, providing support for his upper body to crash into. Without thinking, he curls up against the source of warmth, pressing deep into its side and feeling the gentle rise and expansion of the wolf's rib cage start to lull him into sleep.

It's the deepest sleep he's ever had.

 

 **II.**

 

His mouth is dry in the morning. That's all he can fixate on, trying to swallow around a heavy lump that just won't go down. He's stubborn about it until the discomfort forces him to open his eyes. The sun is already beating down on his face, and his stomach is protesting the lack of dinner. He can't even remember the last time he'd eaten, but it doesn't look like he'll have much time to think on it. 

There's a state trooper there crouched down next to him, immediately shining a pen light into his eyeballs, and the feeling of being blinded first thing in the morning almost makes him want to punch the guy in the face. He only stops himself because of the way he looks reflected in the trooper's glasses. He's a mess. Grass and twigs are clinging to the hair that's sticking out in every imaginable direction from his head. His cheeks are covered in dirt, his lips chapped and broken, and he must reek of sweat and dried up blood. 

The trooper doesn't seem too bothered, having probably seen things far worse, and he seems amicable enough when he offers Keith a ride home. He tells him he thought he'd been driving out there drunk or while high on something, but then he saw the bike and realized it probably died, leaving him out in the wilderness on his own. After, he claims it's a miracle he even lived. There have been people in the forest attacked by all sorts of strange things -cougars, coyotes, even bears. 

Keith doesn't say anything, instead letting his forehead rest on the cool window of the back of the patrol car. His head is aching along with every other inch of his body, and he wants to collapse into his broken down futon at home. He still thinks the giant wolf was probably a figment of his imagination, having no real proof that it even existed except for the fact that he's alive, he supposes. Something had to have killed those wolves that were chasing him down. Maybe that hadn't happened either, but he has the bite marks on his arm to prove it. 

What is even real anymore? He doesn't know how to answer that question, just feeling grateful to be going home. There's no way around the sheer relief, and he has eggs waiting in the fridge for him to cook and a partially functioning bathroom. It's more than he can ask for at the moment, so he ignores the trooper giving him some lecture on safety. It's all just meaningless words to him.

The first thing he does when he gets home is fall straight into his futon, letting his cheek smack right into it. His body half-curls on top of it as his arm hangs off the edge, though he doesn't sleep at all. Instead, he hears the branches beating into the walls outside and the wind whistling through all the gaps in the wall. 

Finding himself alone again… he should be used to this feeling, but the minute comfort of it is always erased when he thinks about how nice it had been to have someone -or _something_ \- to talk to, no matter how imaginary. It makes him wonder if he only makes things up to crowd his senses with some kind of presence, but he also doesn't know if those small distinctions -the white tuft of hair and the scar- are enough to convince him that the encounter had been real. Why would his imagination have those eerie details? 

The fan's absently switched on as Keith lies in bed for a few hours before his phone starts to vibrate erratically. One quick glance indicates it's Allura, and he's sure she's going crazy because he didn't check in with her last night. 

"Where were you?!" she yells into the phone the moment he picks up, "I was calling you for hours. I even stopped by, and you weren't home." 

She's a good caseworker. Dutiful and very detailed. All his other ones barely even cared enough to follow-up after dropping him off somewhere. They just wanted to be rid of him and get him out of the system. Allura technically had no need to even worry about him anymore. He turned eighteen a couple of months ago, so he's no longer her legal responsibility, something he reminds her of often. 

"Out," he finally answers, tossing an arm over his eyes as the sun decides to peak through his shades. 

"How late were you out?"

"I don't have a curfew anymore. Stop bugging me." 

Allura's sigh sounds put-out, but she probably also realizes he's right. Curfews don't apply to him any longer. Neither does her ceaseless nagging and worrying. He's no longer a part of the system. 

"You should at least tell one other person where you are if you're going to be out that late. I don't care if it's not me, I know you have other numbers in your phone." 

Other numbers he ignores. Numbers that don't mean anything. Numbers that are there just to be numbers. Keith isn't particularly close to any of them and doesn't want to be. He's made that abundantly clear enough times. 

"I have no time for this. I have to go to work. Try not to spend the entire day lazing around." 

"I'm not lazing around," Keith mutters defensively. 

He was productively thinking. Very productively thinking. 

"I'll check in again tomorrow." 

She hangs up first, and Keith immediately misses the sound of her voice against his ear. Even if it had been annoying, it's better than the nothingness immediately following after it. 

Outside, one of the trees bangs piteously against the wall in agreement, scraping against it repeatedly while Keith weaves in between being alert and conscious to drifting through his usual array of distracting thoughts. At some point, he decides his body has stewed in its own filth long enough, and he showers quickly, enjoying the two minutes of warm water before it turns to a freezing tundra sluicing over his protesting limbs. He hisses quietly at the sensation and finishes up fast only to throw on a tank top and a beat-up old pair of jeans. 

The bike that he had tried desperately to salvage had been delivered at some point by a tow truck. The trooper had called in one to help haul it to his place, which s a relief. Keith can't afford a new one on his piteous excuse for a paycheck. It had been bad enough scrounging up enough tips from the diner he works at just to even afford to eat or buy a new shirt every once in a while. 

He drags out his tool box and sets it down as he starts to go through the motions of checking every nut, bolt, and panel, though it doesn't take a genius to figure out it's the engine that needs all the work. He might even have to replace it, but that would be easier than buying a whole new bike… maybe. His hands tinker around with it for a while, distractedly turning some of the pieces in his palm before he feels something large bump into his back. 

His whole body freezes, eyes nearly popping right out of his head, and it takes a second for him to regain enough control of his muscles to throw himself onto his feet and whip around, his hand grabbing a wrench with every intent of using it as a weapon. He doesn't know who or what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't the giant wolf from last night.

It sits calmly as it stares at him, its eyes still pensive and deep -definitely deeper than an animal's should be. There's something rotating inside its head, and Keith has no explanation at all for why. Maybe it's magical? …No, that's stupid. Maybe it's a lab experiment? …also stupid. Who would let a giant super intelligent wolf out on the loose? Why would anyone even make a wolf super intelligent to begin with? That would be a waste of tax money.

There had to be some sort of logical explanation, and _why the hell is it at his house??_ Didn't he leave this thing several miles behind? Did it _follow_ him all the way here? Wolves can't travel that far and that fast in a short time!! As far as he knows anyway. He's not an animal expert.

"What are you doing here?!" Keith yells because he doesn't know what else to do about this ridiculously improbably situation except overreact and throw a small tantrum, "Why do you keep following me? This isn't your natural habitat! I don't have any rabbits to feed you!" 

The wolf, which he can now tell is a male wolf in the broad daylight, just stares at him calmly, letting him yell. It doesn't flinch, growl, or seem to react at all. Keith almost wishes it would. At least, that would help convince himself it's a normal wolf he's dealing with and not an alien wolf. 

"Look, I don't like having pets. I've never had one, and you're way too big anyway. Where would I keep you? I can barely fit in the house myself." 

He watches the wolf's eyes as they follow him around while he paces back and forth. They stay glued to him, and he can swear he still sees some hint of amusement there, no matter how subtle. The wolf is definitely thinking he's being an idiot for even ranting to him to begin with. At any rate, Keith's already tried to physically haul him away once. That didn't work, and he's not going to threaten the wolf with any weapons lest he end up like that other small wolf back in the forest. It looks like he has no other choice but to let it be. 

"Fine, you can stay there and watch me work until you get bored. Do what you want." 

His voice sounds more defeated than anything, unsure how else one would deal with this situation. It feels like it'd be too cruel to call animal control, especially since the wolf did save his life. He owes it some kind of gratitude. He might as well let it relax and hang around until it decides its had enough.

Keith spends the rest of the afternoon working on his bike with the wolf silently naps under the shade of a nearby tree. Occasionally, it wanders off for about an hour, probably to relieve itself or eat something, but it always comes back. By dinner time, its made itself at home out on his porch, and Keith leaves out some of the bacon he fried up, watching it eat the strips. 

Its giant snout pokes his hand after, and Keith assumes it must want head scratches or something. He gives into the temptation to run his hands through its mane again, combing through the soft fur while the sun starts to disappear below the horizon. His gaze keeps wandering over to the scar, wondering how that happened. It seems like a blade had cut right through, but it's not like the wolf would be able to answer him if he asked.

His hand remains on its fur even long after he drifts off to sleep, his whole body slanted against the wolf's comforting scent. A part of him tells him not to get used to it. The wolf will be gone one day, and all he'll have are faded memories. 

But for now, this isn't so bad. 

 

**III.**

 

It's been a week since his bike had died along the road, and the wolf had continued living in and around his small house. At some point, "it" had become a "he," though Keith had stubbornly refused to give him a name. He knows the moment he does, he'll have to officially own up to having a pet wolf, one that's exceedingly large and unfit to be an actual pet. 

In spite of his resolve not to have a wolf-pet, Keith has gone through lengths to buy extra food to feed him and to make a bed out of old blankets so he can sleep out on the porch. He only squeezes him inside when it's raining, but otherwise, the wolf is content with their current arrangement. 

The wolf also spends a great deal of time wandering away on his own only to come back hours later and curl up next to him while he's reading or hard at work studying. In spite of Keith's avid disregard for authority, he actually _does_ try to do his schoolwork regularly, wanting to graduate eventually and get a job that involves more than bussing tables. 

He'd already been held back twice for too many consecutive absences due to multiple suspensions and having been flat-out expelled from his first high school, making him two years older than every other sophomore at school and putting him in a lower grade than Hunk and Lance who, he's decided long ago, probably share a brain. Actually, scratch that, Hunk's pretty smart, so he shouldn't discredit him like that. He gets straight-As in Calculus while Keith still hasn't gotten over how pointless it is to measure shapes. Trigonometry is just a waste of space in the curriculum. 

Either way, he's actually been _trying_ , though he wonders if he shouldn't just work on his GED. It'd be faster, and he wouldn't have to deal with high school, which is a nightmare. He doesn't like all those other students crowding in on his space, and he doesn't seem to be able to avoid getting into fights, always set off by something he'll later admit is a stupid reason to get worked up over. The best thing he has going for him is track team, but that's more of a solo effort. He's never bothered signing up for relay or working with anyone anymore than he has to. He also doubts he'll be qualifying for the Olympics anytime soon with his academic and police record, so becoming a professional athlete's a bust. 

His eyes fixate on the words in his textbook until they start to blur, and he finally decides to call it a night, shutting it tightly so he can get some rest. However, the wolf's ears look to be perked up more than usual. He wonders if he hears something out there.

"What is it?" 

The wolf doesn't reply obviously, but his head turns towards the east before he immediately bolts away. Curiously, Keith runs after him, trying to see what's out there. Everything is as pitch black as the night they'd met one another, soundless and eerie, but Keith doesn't bother to find a flashlight or his phone. He follows the sounds of the wolf's steps, letting it lead him further out into the darkness before he hears him growl. 

Its low and quiet, but something about it grates down his spine, making Keith tense up. The growling subtly increases in ferocity as Keith takes a step back, and before he can react, there's a bullet whizzing by his arm and nearly nicking him. The wolf immediately steps in front of him protectively, making its whole form appear larger as it raises it head and glares down at their aggressor.

Keith can't tell who it is in the dark, but he picks up on the sound of a gun being reloaded. A rifle. Is his wolf being hunted? 

Another shot rings out, this one missing and hitting the ground before them, though Keith can only make out the silhouette of their attacker.

"I know you're there, Shirogane," the attacker hisses -definitely a man's voice.

The tone of it is so unpleasant, it makes something in Keith's blood curdle with discomfort, though he wonders why he's referring to the wolf as _'Shirogane.'_ That's a Japanese surname, isn't it?

He isn't given time to dwell on it as he hears another gun shot explode outwards, and Keith barely registers what's going on before the wolf throws its entire body on the attacker. The smell of blood curls in the air immediately after, though Keith can't tell whose it is. He can only see vague forms colliding against one another and hears the escalating growls of the wolf. 

His hands grope around blindly to try and help, but it's not like he has any degree of night vision. He's probably more of a liability at this point, but he doesn't care. He can't just sit by and let this guy kill the wolf. _His_ wolf.

He throws himself into the night, finding his fingers groping beneath the wolf to pluck out the rifle while their assailant is still alive enough to be flailing around and struggling to push the wolf off of him. He manages to take advantage of the distraction to grab the rifle and aim at the two of them with no real intention to shoot. He knows he might miss and hit the wolf, but he also wants this guy, whoever he is, to back off. 

"What are you doing here?" Keith demands, leveling the rifle at one spot -where he thinks the man's head must be at.

"Stop interfering with the hunt!" he snarls in return just before digging something into the wolf's side. Keith can't see what it is, but he hears the wolf whine loudly in pain. 

More blood fills the air, the scent acrid and strong. It practically wets his tongue every time Keith breathes, but he's trying not to let fear get a hold of him. At least, with the wolf out of the way, he is free to shoot, but his assailant is too fast, both hands moving to his shoulders to tackle him to the ground.

The stones and dirt meet up with his back bone all too quickly, digging right in and making him wince. Keith wants to move, but he can't, feeling the weight on top crushing him. Both his hands are pinned down soon after, and he's face to face with some kind of military sci-fi helmet. He doesn't know what it is, but there are lights suddenly flashing in his eyes, blinding him.

Bile starts to climb up his throat as their attacker releases one of his wrists to cup his neck, applying pressure. His fingers pinch inwards, pushing in until Keith can't breathe, and he's struggling to get him off, kicking and flailing wildly, but he's outmatched. He doesn't have enough upper body strength to fight with someone twice his size, at least not when he can't see that well and when the other guy has full body armor. _Just who the hell is he?_

Fortunately, the stranglehold doesn't last long as the wolf's form comes flying outwards to push the guy right off with a bone-chilling growl. He hears the sudden sound of crunching followed by the wolf finally knocking the helmet off back enough to push its fangs into his throat. Everything else that happens after swirls into a disorienting blur, Keith only able to fixate on the savage way the wolf tears into his throat, biting through flesh and artery until blood oozes out all over the ground. He doesn't want to know what the squelching noises are or what part of this man's body he's now looking at outlined in the dark. It's not as important right now as trying to keep his stomach from rising up out of his own throat as his body seems to be involuntarily convulsing everywhere with nausea. 

The wolf doesn't stop until he man can't move any longer, and Keith is filled with the uneasy sense that this might not be the last time at all. 

"…who was he?" he whispers quietly before remembering he might have a wallet of some sort on him. He'll need a flashlight to search.

The wolf doesn't follow him when he runs back to the house to grab one. It seems more intent on sitting there and just watching the body with an eerie pensiveness.

_'Shirogane.'_

The word flits through his mind as he stares at the wolf's backside, confirming what he already knew before. This isn't an ordinary wolf.

He shines the flashlight on what's left of the guy's face a moment later, trying not to recoil. He's just a human underneath -no one he's ever seen before, but the outfit still screams military. The rifle is definitely one he'd seen used by snipers in a couple of video games, so he thinks this guy might be part of some weird top secret organization. 

His hands quickly move through his pockets, looking for more clues. No wallet, but there is some kind of ID badge on him with the name 'Prorok' on it in print. There's a symbol emblazoned on the back that he doesn't recognize, so he decides to keep it for the time being. The rest of his search produces a set of keys, a pretty big and bloody hunting knife, and some more strangely-shaped ammunition - _tranquilizers?_. Keith takes everything before glancing at the wolf who now seems to be trying to drag the body away. 

"You're right, we should bury him somewhere. We can't just leave him here." 

They're in the middle of nowhere, so it's not as though he expects the body to be easily found, but he also doesn't want it hanging around anywhere near them. On some level, he should be more disturbed that his 'pet' had just killed a man right in front of his eyes, but it was either him or the two of them. He prefers how things turned out.

His arms start to reach out to help the wolf before he notices from his angle that he's bleeding pretty badly from his side. He had recalled before when the wolf had whined loudly. He must have been stabbed by the giant hunting knife then. Keith quickly tries to still the wolf and get his attention.

"Let's take care of you first before we deal with the body. No one's going to come here." 

No one ever comes here. Even Allura only visits about once a month, so he isn't too worried. If someone did find him, Keith could just say it was self-defense, which isn't necessarily a lie. He's pretty sure they'd side with a kid instead of some mysterious creep decked out in army gear. 

His hands gently guide the wolf inside to get a better look at his wound before grimacing. It looks pretty bad, and Keith wishes he had a first-aid kit somewhere. As it is, he doesn't even have enough bandages to wrap him up properly. 

His fingers latch onto one of his bath towels before soaking it in cold water to at least start cleaning it up. He strokes gently over the wound, applying very little pressure and amazing himself with some actual patience for once. He figures he owes the wolf after it saved him twice in spite of how much he'd yelled at it. He's starting to think the wolf might be desperate for an owner, considering he's the option the wolf went with and not someone more sensible. 

He continues to dab at the wound before rubbing some anti-bacterial lotion around it because what else is he going to do? He doesn't have any fancy medical equipment, so he has to get creative. For a bandage, he just tears through one of his old shirts and ties it around to hopefully staunch the bleeding, though the wolf looks at him with another one of its vaguely amused expressions.

"I'm trying my hardest here, okay? Does it look like I'm a nurse?" 

There's a soft snort from the wolf's nose that continues to convince him that he can understand perfectly well what he's saying, which is still ludicrous, but tonight has been a strange night all around. Keith's got to start accepting all the anomalies at some point and try to put the pieces together.

"…Is your name really Shirogane?" 

His eyes shift towards the wolf's face, half-expecting him to just stare at him dumbly in return and half-expecting him to actually answer, yet it still surprises him when the wolf nods.

"And you can understand me?" 

Another nod.

"What are you?" 

The wolf doesn't reply this time but instead cranes its head before lowering it on Keith's thigh and resting it there. Against his will, his fingers move to brush over the top of his mane, sliding through to pet him as the wolf's eyes shut tightly. He must really be tired… he drops the matter for now, figuring he might never even really know. The wolf can't exactly tell him verbally, and Keith isn't a mind-reader.

"Shirogane is too long of a name. How about I call you Shiro?" 

He takes the wolf's upright, twitching tail as a yes and lets him spend the remainder of the night on the floor of his house, sleeping quietly next to his own futon. 

 

 **IV.**

 

Mid-day in school, and Keith's still thinking about the fact that he spent the weekend moving and burying a dead body. It still feels surreal to really fixate on it, but he's stowed up in the computer room during his lunch period, trying to use the internet to find out more about the guy that Shiro killed.

_'Prorok.'_

What a weird name. He's never heard anyone else called that, so hopefully, that means it'll be an easy search. Since he doesn't have internet at his place, he can only look things up here in school or at one of the local library branches, but he's taking his chances at school because it's faster. His fingers glide over the keyboard, typing into the search engine while he perches forward, trying to read page after page of nothing. No answers, no clues. Does this guy not exist? Maybe that name had just been a code name. It's not like he had a last name on his badge to help narrow down the search.

His lips curl down in a tight frown as he tries again as though typing it over and over might produce different results. He even tries to look up the word in a bunch of international dictionaries but to no avail. 

The door swings open without warning, interrupting his string of typed out words that had rapidly devolved into expletives, and Keith's eyes flicker up towards the room's newest occupant. 

"Hm? What are _you_ doing here?" 

It's Lance. It's always Lance. 

_'I don't need this right now.'_

Keith tries to ignore him and his inane question since it's none of his business anyway. Even if he spilled every single detail about the wolf and his consecutive near-death experiences, Lance wouldn't believe him. 

"Looking up something dirty on a school computer? Never knew you had it in you, Keith." 

He's even wiggling his eyebrows at him like he's stumbled on the irrefutable truth. If Keith hadn't been so busy reading the screen in front of him, he'd have thrown the keyboard right at this face. It's definitely tempting, but he doesn't want to end up in detention for destroying school property. 

Again. 

"Pleading the fifth on that one, huh? No worries. Your secret's safe with me. What kind of stuff you lookin' at?" 

His whole body decides to invade his personal space at once, cutting through the comfortable bubble around him as his head presses absurdly close to his own to read the screen. Instantly, Keith can smell something fried on him, pungent noodles maybe, and it makes his nose wrinkle in disgust as he presses his palm to Lance's face to push him away. 

"It's nothing dirty," he finally replies before Lance goes around spreading dumb rumors about him.

Again. 

"Oh, come on! Let me see-!" His hands jerk his palm away so he can peak at the screen, and Keith spots Lance's eyebrows drawing together curiously as he reads what he's typed. "Pro-rok? Isn't that the drug they give to people with depression?" 

"That's _prozac_ , genius." 

He doesn't have enough patience for this, his control already worn thin by the fact that his search has yielded nothing at all. Now, Lance is here existing and proving to be a ceaseless distraction. 

"Here I thought you'd secretly have a human side and be into normal things like girls and porn, but even your search history is as weird and boring as the rest of you." 

_'Why is Lance still talking to him?'_

Keith can't take anymore of this encounter, fingers moving to exit out of the browser. For good measure, he clears out all of his search history so Lance doesn't have to know exactly how many times he did search for the word 'Prorok' in the past fifteen minutes. Is he really that eager to find dirt on him? Doesn't he have anything better to do with his time? 

His feet kick the chair away from the computer before he stands up.

"It's all yours." 

He can't believe he wasted all that time and came up empty. There has to be something on this guy and the organization he works for. That symbol on his badge still hovers in his mind, absent of any explanation. He'd have remembered if he'd seen it before. 

If only he had more clues to go by. 

He'd given the body another search before burying it, but it hadn't been as thorough as it could have been. Maybe he had some tattoos or markings on his skin, but frankly, he'd been too mangled up for Keith to even bother checking. The stench on the fresh corpse had also been too unbearable. He doesn't know how coroners do it, but he'd been happy to stick it several feet under ground after one whiff. 

He abandons Lance in the computer lab, amidst whatever he'd been talking about that he'd long since tuned out completely, and heads for the library next, though he hasn't any idea where to start. Books on secret conspiracies? Government organizations? _Wolves_? 

Maybe this idea had been pointless as any other. He's only dragging himself into dead-end after dead-end, but he does end up at least looking up some things on wolves. Since he's sort of in possession of one at the moment, it only makes sense, though he doesn't learn anything particularly new or enlightening. Thankfully, Shiro doesn't go around marking outside of his house, though he does wonder if he has a pack somewhere out there. Are they looking for him? Would Shiro be considered an alpha wolf without a pack? How does a wolf that big even find a female wolf to mate with? Are there other giant wolves out there? 

The questions toss around his head until Keith has decided that's enough critical thinking for the day. For as many species of wolves listed in each compendium, none quite match Shiro's size and appearance for him to even narrow down his species. Maybe he's just a genetic freak of nature, but even so, Keith doesn't mind. He doesn't necessarily fit in anywhere himself either. 

He boards the bus at the end of the day, absently staring out the window as he heads home. With his bike still broken, he's had to rely on public transportation to get around, but the last stop is still about a mile away from his place. From there, he's started jogging home, intent on working on his stamina. Maybe he might even qualify as a cross-country runner by spring if he keeps this up, but he's thinking more along the lines of how this skill could benefit his survival. He doesn't want to be outrun by a pack of wolves ever again.

By the time he reaches his house, his clothes are sticking damply to him everywhere, and his hair is shrouding his eyes. He'll have to trim his bangs later, but he pushes them aside for now as he approaches the wooden shack. Shiro's gone completely, but he tries not to give into the sinking dread pooling at the pit of his stomach. He must be off hunting or something. Keith tries to drown in his mind in 18th century English poetry for the rest of the afternoon to avoid worrying or going after Shiro, eventually passing out on the futon with the textbook weighing heavily on his chest.


	2. V-VIII

**V.**

 

Running water… it's subtle and quiet, and Keith thinks maybe the toilet is overflowing again. His body aches, but he also knows flooding the house is less than ideal, especially when the water would cause a lot of damage to the wood. A groan spills from his lips as he wills himself to roll off his futon so he can check on it. Surprisingly, the toilet is fine, but he can still pick up the sound of running water like it's coming out of a faucet or…

_'or a hose.'_

His feet scramble out of the house quickly, thinking he'd left it on earlier for some reason even if he can't remember turning it on to begin with. Unless he has ghosts or unless Shiro's suddenly gained enough dexterity in his paws to turn it on, he immediately suspects another trespasser on his property. 

He skids to a stop once he rounds the corner of the small shack, eyes falling on one very scarred and naked back. Definitely male. Definitely muscular. Maybe about six foot something while standing? Keith can't tell when he's crouched in front of the hose like that, facing away from him, but his own muscles tense, ready to spring to action because the other alternative is being the one who is killed. His mind is already racing to the possibilities, but his body doesn't bother waiting for it to catch up as he locks his arms around his assailant's neck from behind, immediately securing him into a hold. He has the element of surprise to his advantage and the fact that he's standing and fully clothed, though a small part of his brain is trying to pinpoint a logical reason for why this guy is even on his property naked.

Drunk pervert perhaps? 

The hunter from the other day had been fully clothed in armor with a loaded sniper rifle. This man is decidedly the complete opposite of that, but Keith is only reacting at this point, giving into impulse after impulse because fear and anger are his worst enablers. 

The man raises both hands to try and pry Keith's arm from his neck, using his greater strength to actually force them loose, but Keith doesn't give up, pressing against his force even if it makes his arms ache horribly. 

"K-keith," he hears the man wheeze, and the roller coaster ride in Keith's brain comes to a screeching halt.

"How do you know my name?" 

The answer becomes a little more obvious when Keith focuses on the strong, musky scent percolating beneath his nose, unconsciously inhaling it inside of himself. _He knows this scent._ His arms start to loosen enough so that he could stand at the man's front. 

Even under the dim porch lights, Keith can make out the white tuft of hair in the front, grey eyes laden with both warmth and ferocity, the horizontal scar… it's all there. 

" _Shiro?!_ "

No, it can't be. That is not possible or logical at all. Shiro is a giant wolf. A giant and strangely friendly wolf but definitely not a tall, naked man. _No way._ He's been around him for weeks. He thinks he would have noticed a lot sooner if he was human except Shiro had exhibited unusual signs of intelligence and is a lot more compassionate than wild animal. Not to mention the fact that he has a name -a very _human_ name.

"Y-you're Shiro! You're a human!" 

Shiro's eyes meet his as his hands slowly slide around his wrists, withdrawing them more fully from his neck. For a long time, silence draws over them like a tight wire, threatening to strangle all the air around him, and Keith is lulled by the strange, frantic beat of his own heart before another thought springs loose in his mind.

"Does this mean you could talk the whole time?!" 

He doesn't know why he fixates on that little detail, but he'd only been one-sidedly talking to an animal about anything and everything the past few weeks. What if Shiro had thought he was the biggest idiot this whole time? He'd just sat there listening with that amused expression on his face, letting him ramble his life away. 

"Yes," Shiro finally answers, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this. I didn't want to scare you off. You looked so skittish from the moment I met you, I was waiting for the right time." 

There is no right time to have the 'I'm really a human talk' to be honest, and it's not like the night they met would have been that ideal. Keith had, indeed, been pretty shaken up back then and not in a good state of mind. 

It's hard to believe even now with the evidence indisputably staring at him in the face, though Keith is trying hard not to look at anywhere else but Shiro's eyes. He hadn't realized just how naked he'd been when he'd been standing behind him, but face-to-face, it's impossible to stop the heat from rising fast to the surface of his own skin. Even though he's seen plenty of guys changing before in the locker rooms, they weren't fully grown adult wolf-men.  

Shiro's …he's something. Keith's mind can't even think of a word, only that he knows he'd become easily enraptured by him if he allowed his gaze to wander further, so he doesn't. Instead, he yanks his jacket off and throws it in Shiro's lap, trying to cover the most offensive part of his body. 

The gesture make Shiro's eyebrows rise comically before he slowly stands while holding the jacket in place, and it becomes more apparent just how tall and big he is compared to his own size. His biceps alone are impressive by the sheer length of their circumference, though Keith is pointedly not staring at all. Getting him clothed and finding out what the hell is going on is infinitely more important at the moment. 

"Come on. If you're going to stay here you're going to have to wear something more than my jacket." 

He's not sure if any of his shorts would fit him, but he rummages through his drawer anyway, desperate for _anything._ In the end, he settles on a bath towel for Shiro to wind around his waist while he sits down next to him on the futon. It's weird to feel his heavy weight next to him on the dingy mattress, unable to remember if he ever had any other visitors in here aside from Allura. No one else even knows he lives all the way out here, and he's not keen on inviting anyone any time soon. 

"So… what exactly are you?" 

Shiro's eyes look pensive for a moment before his expression turns to stare at him, and there is something mollified there like he'd just settled on something he'd been warring with inside for some time now. He wonders if he would have ever told him about this had Keith not accidentally found him earlier, but he has a feeling that Shiro had actually intended to at some point. It's not Shiro's fault that he can be kind of …impulsive, after all. 

He catches Shiro's shoulders hunching forward as he rests his elbows on his own thighs and finally answers him. 

"I guess your kind would call us werewolves, but it's nothing as bad as the horror movies depict. We don't transform under the full moon or go insane with bloodthirstiness. Silver bullets can't kill us, and we can't turn anyone by biting them." 

"So there are more of you?"

Keith doesn't know why he'd expected any differently, but at least, they seem fairly docile from the sound of it. With their size and power, they'd unquestionably be the dominant species over humans. 

"Very few. Humans have hunted us down for centuries, killing each werewolf they encounter because of tales they'd heard about children being devoured by our kind or young virgins being killed for sacrificial reasons." 

Shiro's eyebrows draw inwards the more he speaks, and Keith can see the tension take a hold of his body, the way his shoulders start to pull inward and the white-stained knuckles where his hands curl. 

"Was the hunter from the other night one of them? Out to kill you because you're a werewolf or whatever?" 

"No." 

That's a shock, but now, it looks more apparent that Shiro had known that guy on a more personal level. Perhaps, he hadn't needed to break his fingers researching it on the lab computer the day before. If only he'd just asked Shiro about it, though in his defense, it's not like he knew then that Shiro could answer him back.

"He's from the Galra," Shiro continues, his words growing more quiet as his gaze shifts to some unknown point on the floor. There's anger there, no matter how subtle, laced in his expression and boiling from inside-out, and Keith can pick up the way the veins protrude from his neck with how hard he's keeping his jaw locked. "They're an organization, but they don't hunt wolves."

"What do they do?" 

He surprises himself with how soft his own voice sounds, how tentative he speaks then. 

"Experiment on them." 

Keith's eyes grow wide, wondering if Shiro knows this first-hand, but he doesn't want to bring himself to ask. It suddenly feels too personal. It's not like Shiro's ever asked him anything about himself -about his parents, his background, why he's all alone in this shack or what he even does for a living. He knows he has no right to pry, but the anguish behind Shiro's eyes is being plainly drawn out right in front of him. He has a tough time ignoring it. 

"Did they capture you?" 

A nod. It's subtle but unmissable. 

"Shiro…" 

His palm settles heavily on top of Keith's head after a moment, the weight of it suddenly dragging with it a strong gush of warmth. Keith feels the sensation flood down the back of his neck, and his eyes meet Shiro's, locking onto them in uncertainty. 

"Shiro, why'd you come here?" he finally asks, his voice quietly protruding through the thick lump in his throat.

If anything makes the least sense it's the fact that someone who should be terrified and distrustful of humans would choose to not only save one but stay with him. He'd be safer far from here, out there where humans and hunters won't venture into. Why would he willingly put himself in danger like this? 

Shiro's face transforms slowly, a smile spreading across his expression. He looks different like that. _Captivating._

"I was worried about you. Wanted to make sure you got home in one piece. You disappeared suddenly while I went to get something for you to eat that I thought someone had taken you, so I followed your scent all the way here." 

"That far?!" 

That can't be normal. Werewolf or not, that's beyond possible.

Shiro shrugs lightly. 

"You have a distinct smell. It's easy to pick up. It's not a bad one, though I rarely see you take showers." 

That makes Keith stiffen defensively, teeth clenching together in irritation. 

"I shower plenty," he mutters, looking away and now feeling self-conscious about the sweat stains under his arms and the fact that his hair is incredibly oily at the moment. "Usually at school. I don't get a lot of hot water here." 

"I noticed, but like I said, your scent's not bad to me." 

"What about yours? I can smell you, too. It's different from the other wolves. Even from humans, but it's kind of strong." 

Something about that question catches Shiro completely off-guard because his eyes grow comically wide, and he stares at him at him for a while like he'd just spontaneously grown another head. 

"…Huh," is all he says in response.

" _'Huh'_?! That's it?" 

The smile Shiro gives him after does nothing to assuage his own sudden curiosity.

"Don't worry too much about it. You should get back to sleep. You have school in the morning, don't you?" 

Way to awkwardly change the subject there. Keith's not buying into it, but he's also not in the mood to wrestle out answers from a half-naked man on his futon. As it is, he _is_ pretty tired, and now, he needs to force himself to wake up extra early to squeeze in a shower at the gym, so he doesn't stink more than usual. 

He's barely aware when Shiro shifts back into a wolf, but there's something comforting about his presence when it curls up next to his bed. He can almost feel the heat emanating from him even though they're not touching at all, and Keith can't help curling up on his side to face Shiro, wondering just how long he plans on staying here. He should ask him that.

Later, though… later. Right now, he doesn't really want to know the answer. 

 

 **VI.**

 

School knocks the wind out of him, and his part-time job isn't any better. Vomit on the table and a toddler who decided to empty out all the condiments everywhere. It's Keith's private version of hell, but he's eager to get home, only stopping at the thrift shop on the way to the bus stop to get some decently-sized clothes for Shiro. He doesn't even know why he bothers, unsure if he'll even be waiting for him when he gets home, but the thought of having a grown man walking around in just a towel all day inside his house is not good for his sanity.

He'd rather be able to look him comfortably in the eye, so he picks up a few shirts with the vague measuring stick of _'it should at least be larger than anything I own.'_ By the time he makes it home, it's almost sun down. He's jogged with a grocery bag full of clothes in his hands but tells himself it'll only make him stronger in the end. He needs to stop slacking on his work-outs anyway.

There's an overwhelming feeling of relief when he does find Shiro in his wolf-form napping comfortably on the porch. His whole body is curled to one side, his eyes shut until he approaches closer. Then, one single grey eye falls on him, and Keith awkwardly drops the bag of clothes next to his body.

"For you." 

It had cost him at least half a paycheck, but he'll pick up more hours at the diner to make it up. He's not going to burden Shiro with any of those details, though he doesn't like the fact that all that running around had made him sweaty again. Shiro must have picked up the stench long before he'd even gotten here. 

Shiro's long snout pushes into the bag to sniff at the clothes before his form starts to shift, and Keith only catches a few seconds of his flesh-covered arms before turning away abruptly. It's obvious he has no sense of shame, but why would he? He's not human.

"Thanks. You didn't have to, though. How much did this all cost you?" 

Of course, he'd hit straight for that question, but Keith's not arguing about this at all.

"Doesn't matter. I'm not letting you sit on the furniture without a pair of clothes in between." 

"But you let me sit on it all the time when I'm covered in fur." 

He's got him there. There's absolutely no sense of logic to his way of thinking. 

"That's different! Fur I can see and scrub off, but human skin is …it's different. I don't know. Just put the clothes on." 

The way he stumbles over his words gives away his abject embarrassment, and he hates sounding so much like a kid about this. He's eighteen, so he should be more mature, but it's not like he'd ever spent a great degree of time around people. He'd never dated anyone or even hung out casually with someone after school, so his human contact has probably been more limited than Shiro's. 

To his relief, Shiro drops the subject and slides the clothes on. Keith will have to find him shoes later and underwear, but at least, most of him is covered for the time being. It's one small victory for the afternoon, and now, he's ready to crash. 

He pushes his keys in through the door as he drags his feet in, kicking his boots off. His bag is tossed next to the small center table, and he flops down on the bed with a soft huff of breath. Shiro's steps pad in after him, and he can feel his sharp eyes on him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand attentively. 

"Tired? I can make you something?" 

Keith's head turns in his direction, catching the concern on Shiro's face. 

"You know how to cook?" 

"A bit. Used to do some of it in the air force." 

" _You were in the air force?!_ "

Keith's whole body shoots up, gaping at Shiro who he thought had been living in the wilderness this whole time. He doesn't know _why_ because Shiro is pretty smart and articulate for a forest-dweller. He must have had some formal schooling at some point. 

"A little while. It was a long time ago." 

"What else are you keeping from me?"

He follows Shiro as he starts to tinker with a pan and the electric hot plate he tries to pass off as a sorry excuse for a stove. There are some eggs in the mini-fridge that he'd been planning on frying, but Shiro beats him to the punch.

"Nothing really. What do you want to know?" 

Everything. He wants to know everything. What was a wolf-man doing in the air force? Why is he not in the air force anymore? Why is he living in the middle of nowhere? Where the hell is his family? 

But none of the questions come out at all, and Keith, instead, wrestles with his own curiosity. Maybe the less he knows, the better. He gets the feeling there's a reason Shiro doesn't talk about himself much, and it might be the same reason he himself barely mentions any personal details.

"I don't know… whatever you want to tell me." 

Shiro's expression grows thoughtful for a moment as he heats up the pan, pouring a reserved amount of oil on it. He doesn't say anything for a while, concentrating on the task at hand as he one-handedly cracks two eggs before tossing them in the trash bag Keith keeps on the floor.

"I was born in Japan. My father was in the military in the United States. My mother was a nurse. We moved around pretty often. It also helped keep our identities secret. Father was always worried someone would find out. They're still alive…" 

His voice grows quiet at the end, solemnity spread out across his eyes as he watches the eggs crackle loudly in the oil. 

"Do they know where you are?" Keith asks carefully, continuing to study the subtle transformations in Shiro's face.

"…no. It's better that way." 

Again, there's this urgency to pry, _to know more_ , but maybe his relationship with his parents was bad. Maybe Shiro had a fight with them and left or maybe …something else completely. He did mention he'd been caught by those Galra guys. Maybe he's trying to protect them and their whereabouts by staying away. Shiro does seem strangely selfless like that. 

They eat together that night in mostly silence with Keith's eyes only occasionally flickering up to watch Shiro. Even when he eats, there's a subtle intensity to the way he moves that reminds him of the dangerous creature that had shredded the intruder the other night. It's tangled with the warmth of his caring persona so innately that he has trouble separating both sides of Shiro or even feeling fully at ease around him. There are times when he thinks he could melt into his welcoming aura and other times where he's on edge like he's the one being hunted by him, though he has no rational reason to feel that way. Up until now, Shiro's never hurt him at all. 

He forces himself under the cold shower after dinner, trying to ignore the way his bones want to jump right out of his skin as the ice water sluices down his hair. It's awful, but he soldiers on, scrubbing shampoo into his hair like his life depends on it before making sure he's thoroughly rubbed every inch of his body with soap, leaving no corner unwashed. It takes him ten minutes longer than his usual time, but at least, it staves off the embarrassment he feels knowing Shiro's hyper-sensitive nose can pick up just about _any_ speck of dirt on his body.

Grey eyes focus on him immediately as he walks out of the shower while toweling his hair dry, and he doesn't expect Shiro to rise smoothly or put his hands over his to help him with the towel, either. It's such a strange experience, vaulting him out of reality as his heart thrusts wildly against his chest. Shiro's hands are warm and large, cradling his smaller ones as they move, and he forgets to breathe, his mind spinning for a moment as the spicy scent that usually clings to Shiro's body starts to roll off him in waves. He doesn't know if it's his imagination that it smells more pronounced, but he definitely feels like he's submerged in it right now when they're standing this close. 

Shiro's fingers slowly move off of his after a few seconds, but he feels his nose suddenly brush along the side of his neck, sniffing him in a manner that would be exceedingly creepy if he wasn't already aware that Shiro is a wolf. It tickles but not as much as the fingers that start to crawl around his lower abdomen, moving around him until he becomes aware all too late that Shiro is hugging his waist and tugging him back against his chest.

"…Shiro?" Keith asks quietly, wondering what the hell's gotten into him.

Normally, he's not this touchy or affectionate -in this form, at least. As a wolf, he'd sniffed him, licked him, and nuzzled him a dozen times, but it's weirder when he's like this. His own body is more hyper-aware of his presence, the flesh-warm touch of his skin against his own, making him feel uneasy as his nerve endings start to buzz with some unnamed feeling. It grows even more pronounced when Shiro's hair nuzzles the side of his neck, and his whole being starts to overpower him in one fell swoop.

That's when Keith decides he's had enough, lurching away violently from the grip and shooting Shiro a glare that makes him back off instantly. He doesn't say anything for fear of how his voice might sound at the moment, but he does widen the distance between them, making it all the more obvious that there needs to be some boundaries between them if Shiro is going to stay here. None of this weird cuddling.

"I'm sorry, Keith," Shiro finally apologizes, and he imagines the furry ears that should be there drooping with regret. 

That seems to diffuse whatever anger and confusion he'd felt in an instant, and Keith lets his body sink down on his futon as he breathes outwards to calm himself. 

"It's fine. Just caught me off-guard."  

"You're not used to being touched." 

Isn't that obvious? How many people does he have touching him on a daily basis? It might be normal 'bonding' for Shiro, but for him, it's an anomaly. Even the foster parents he'd stayed with hadn't given him so much as a hug in the past. 

"I won't do it anymore if you don't want me to," Shiro continues, looking obviously concerned. 

If Keith's honest with himself, he doesn't want him to stop, either. It's just …confusing sometimes. He doesn't know how or what the hell he's supposed to feel about it because Shiro is not human at all and probably means nothing suggestive by it. It's just part of his instinct, but it's not part of his own. For him, he has to make a conscious decision to touch someone and to accept their touch, which isn't easy.

But he doesn't want to entirely give up on that intimacy between them because it might be the only chance he'll ever get to know what it's like not to repel everyone around him. Shiro's been stubbornly by his side since they'd met, and against his better judgment, he's actually starting to trust him and _want_ him to be there. 

"You don't have to stop." 

Those words feel heavy as they roll off his tongue, but he's bad at self-control. Even worse at being discreet. With Shiro, it feels almost impossible to hide his truest self, so he's already deciding he won't for once. The fear of him leaving is starting to override common sense.

But when Shiro smiles warmly at him, he forgets any reason he ever hesitated. 

 

 **VII.**

 

Pain explodes along his bottom lip, the impact causing the skin to burst open, and Keith tastes the blood as he licks it up unconsciously. Some idiot had decided to pick a fight just because he'd been sitting beneath the bleachers and stealing his prime make-out spot with his girlfriend. Keith had only been passing his free period reading outdoors and hadn't particularly cared about the guy's indignant attitude, only having responded to him matter-of-factly that he hadn't seen his name scrawled anywhere under the bleachers to begin with.

Not that that would have stopped him from sitting here anyway. 

A few heated insults later, and Keith found himself stumbling back in pain. Unfortunately for this guy, he chose the wrong person to mess with. Keith may not have an overwhelming amount of upper body strength, but he makes up for it in agility, his own fist ripping through the air in an instant, aided by the momentum of his body pushing forward against gravity. 

There's a satisfying crack where his fist meets the guy's face, and he watches him stumble back weakly before Keith punches him again. The trick is never to give them time to recover, always keep them reeling back. 

His bent knee shoves into his stomach next, and he hears the guy choke. His girlfriend scrambles away to find a teacher, and sure, it'll end with him another suspension but what does he care? He's not the type of guy to get up and move for anyone. 

What he doesn't count on is that this guy has buddies. Lots of them. They surround him just like the wolf pack had in the forest, narrowing in on him, and their alpha settles his dark eyes on him, looking more wild than any beast could ever look.

"Take him down," he snarls, and they're all on him, holding down his two arms as a swift kick is delivered against his ribs.

He feels his sides burn, tastes the bile in his mouth, but he doesn't cry or scream for help. His lips purse together, instead, struggling to push them off even though he's brutally outnumbered. It doesn't mean he'll give up, and he manages to headbutt one of them in the nose, feeling satisfied when it starts dripping blood. 

A punch explodes across his jaw, the closed fist making his head whip violently to one side, and Keith can taste more blood in his mouth where he'd bitten his tongue by accident. They yank his hair back, twist his arms, kick him in the stomach, and eventually he numbs himself to the pain because it's the only way he can survive. He doesn't know how long it lasts -seconds or minutes- but the principal scrambles out red-faced and furious.

Even his yells fall numb to his ears, but Keith manages to pick himself up enough to trudge after him. Nothing feels broken, so he's not too bothered. He'll probably be swollen for days, but it seems like he'll get to spend that time in bed. The principal waves a suspension notice in his face along with all the other guys involved, so he's satisfied that he, at least, took them out with him in the end. 

When he arrives home that day with his head still swimming in the malaise of pain and confusion, he doesn't bother to notice that Shiro isn't there. 

_'It's better that way.'_

He doesn't want to talk right now or confront whatever demon is always bidding him to snap and let loose. If he did, would he even stop being this way? Probably not. It's the only way he knows how to survive.

The wind howls in its usual agreement, and Keith lets his mental exhaustion lure the rest of him to sleep. He only wakes up when he feels fingers on his face, recognizing the scent enough to know that it's Shiro without opening his eyes. A thumb trails along the busted skin on his lip, lightly pushing into it before pulling his jaw apart to look inside.

"Who did this to you?" 

His voice is so low and chilling against his ear, practically a growl, that Keith can't stop his whole body from going tense at once and his eyes from snapping open. That's definitely not a tone he's ever heard Shiro use.

He shifts his gaze to the side where the older man is crouched, studying him with a frightening degree of concentration. His eyes, as usual, are the most expressive part of his body, and right now, they look feral - _unhinged_. There's no warmth here for once, and Keith worries, for a second, that Shiro is mad at him for getting into a fight.

"Some guys at school," he finally answers honestly, still tense and thinking Shiro will fly off the rails. It's not the best time to be indignant.

To his surprise, Shiro doesn't snap, only letting out an amused snort as his whole countenance seems to shift from something outwardly aggressive to something more relaxed in an instant. Had he been suspecting something worse? He doesn't know what's ticking up inside Shiro's brain, but it had been alarming how ready he looked to strike out. He could tell that he'd been burdened with some barely contained fury, but he still doesn't know who it was directed at.

It matters less and less as Shiro's fingers slide through his hair in a placating gesture, though he doesn't feel like he's the one who needs to be restrained right now.

"You shouldn't be getting into fights like that. You're going to get expelled at this rate. What did he even do to you?"

"Just started saying some things. I didn't like how he talked to me." 

He knows pride is a foolish thing to cling to, but it'd be worst to him to spend his life being walked all over by other people. He's definitely no pushover. 

"You have to learn how to choose your battles. Some aren't worth fighting, Keith." 

Those words sound like they were being spoken from experience, reminding Keith that there's a whole past there inside of Shiro that he still doesn't know much about. Perhaps, one day he won't remain a complete mystery to him. 

"Next time someone engages you, take a few breaths before hitting them and ask yourself if they're worth the effort." 

Keith nods his head, actually listening even if he isn't sure if he'll ever actually apply that advice to a real world situation. There's never enough time for him to think, his body always moving without much provocation. He feels like the reflex to fight had become so ingrained into him that it's practically instinct.  

Shiro's hand reaches out towards him, helping to pull him up to a sitting position. 

"Come on, let me get you cleaned up."  

To his surprise, Shiro does have a lot of first-aid knowledge and even with his blatant lack of essentials, he manages to do a good job cleaning out each of his wounds. His thumb ends up moving over his split lip once more, massaging the skin carefully as Shiro stares at him with an overwhelming amount of intensity. Once again, gears are turning behind those eyes, but Keith never knows if it's okay to ask what he's thinking. He'd feel stupid even bringing it up anyway, so he breathes in the taste of flesh from Shiro's finger instead and pushes the tip of his tongue to it without thinking.

All he knows at that moment is the taste of its salty surface, the faint, rough texture of his skin, and the way the simple gesture makes the darkness in Shiro's eyes bloom outwards. Then the thumb disappears entirely, and Keith feels Shiro's hands grab a hold of his shirt yanking him forward violently, and is too surprised to even stop himself when Shiro's tongue moves over the wound, pressing into it to stubbornly lick over all the dried blood there. His lips fall open just to choke out a gasp, the sound shuddered and weak to his own ears, but he can't think clearly enough to force his body to move away. He feels lost in a myriad of synapses, none of which order him to move back, and Shiro's warm breath crawls into his own mouth, floating across his tongue so he can swallow him down, letting him sink and settle into his core. His heart drums frantically along his rib cage, and he wants the taste of him more than he's ever wanted anything before, no matter how irrational that thought is.

But Shiro pulls away with one hand moving down his cheek, a disarming gesture as he looks like he's struggling to get a hold of himself, too. Keith wants to keep provoking him, but the fear of what would come after stops him. He doesn't know what Shiro would do or how he'd react, so he lets him go.

"Sleep off the pain. You'll heal faster that way." 

The fingers leave his skin too fast, heat trails remaining in their wake, and Shiro rummages through his cabinets long enough to find a bottle of aspirin to toss at him. He brings him a glass of water and makes sure he's all comfortably nestled into his blankets before starting to strip. 

Still worked up from before, Keith doesn't even let himself catch a glimpse of skin, turning away fast, but he feels Shiro's furry snout seconds later, pushed up against his back and nuzzling him. That seems to bring his thoughts back down to Earth for the night, and Keith curls up tighter, trying to sleep through all the pain. 

 

**VIII.**

 

There's a long pale scar extending from the inside of Shiro's wrist to his elbow. Keith had never noticed it before because he'd always been wearing long-sleeved shirts or had been covered completely in fur. The few times he wasn't, Keith had pointedly not been staring at his body, but now with the both of them outside working on his bike beneath the blazing hot sun, Shiro had opted for a tank top that shows off way more damage than Keith had ever seen on a person before.

Were they all from his time in the air force or did they come from his time in captivity? Again, he's avoiding asking any prying questions, but he can't help but fixate on the way they mar his skin, the criss-cross patterns and long lines that spell out the horrors that Shiro won't describe. 

Keith sets down his tools and sits up for a moment to ask a a safer question.

"Do you like being a wolf or human more?" 

Shiro turns to face him curiously, having been crouched this whole time next to the box of junk Keith had raided earlier from a landfill.

"I used to want to fit in with humans, but as I got older, I realized more and more how little I had in common with them." 

His expression grows thoughtful as he sits back on his rear to get more comfortable and turn his gaze skyward.

"At first, it was the little things. I knew I was faster than the kids my age, that I could smell, see, and hear better than them. Then there were instinctive things I couldn't always explain away. Even during military training, I was highly susceptible to suspicion due to how easily everything came to me ...hunting, tracking, killing." 

Shiro's lips purse together for a moment, the color draining from the pressure, but Keith's attention doesn't waver away from him. 

"But you still tried to live among them?" he presses.

"I wanted to. My parents were fond of humans and wanted to help them, so I guess I inherited that from them." 

It still makes no sense to Keith why these werewolves would actively try and risk their lives for the same people that hunted them down for centuries. He can't imagine he'd have ever done anything but turn against the humans vengefully if he were in his position. He guesses he's glad, in the end, that Shiro is nothing like him. 

"That was just a long-winded way of saying I'm more comfortable being a wolf these days. It's easier to move around like that. Plus, I can smell a lot better in that form." 

"Doesn't stop you from sniffing around the house all the time," Keith grumbles, still mortified that he has to keep on top of his grooming habits now.

"No, but I can pick up your moods from your scent. When you're anxious, you start to sweat more. Things like that." 

Great. Now he has to worry about involuntary biological functions on top of everything, too?! His whole posture shifts awkwardly, lips pulling into a scowl, obviously displeased by the fact that he's an open book to this guy when he has to scrape through scant clues just to figure out anything Shiro feels. 

"Don't get self-conscious. If I couldn't smell you, I'd be lost with what to do with you most of the time. You don't talk much." 

"I'm talking now." 

He can't keep the defensiveness out of his voice even though he has no reason to get upset. Shiro's just stating something factual. He's not the kind of guy who goes around expressing his feelings openly or even admitting he has fears. 

"Is there anything else you're dying to ask me?" 

Yes. A lot. But Keith doesn't even know where to begin, distracting himself by scraping some dirt off his elbows before he takes a swig from the water canister sitting next to his thigh.

"Did you have a pack growing up? What happened to them?" 

The moment those words leave his mouth, he instantly regrets saying them because Shiro's face scrunches up in anguish. One of his hands moves up to rake through the white tuft of hair as he struggles to answer.

"...I don't know. There aren't a lot of us around anymore. Like I said, we can't turn others into werewolves like in the movies, but I made a family. I took them in. I was their alpha and protector..." 

So many words hang unspoken in the air, and the knife looks like it's twisting deeper into Shiro's heart as he struggles to remember. 

"We were captured together. I don't know what happened to them. I don't know if they're still alive. I'm sorry." 

Something tells him that apology was meant for someone else. He wishes there was some way to help him find out what happened, but he's limited to internet searches at school. This situation might be a little out of his area of expertise, but he feels like he can't give up, either. There has to be some way to find out more about the Galra.

"You said those guys perform experiments. What are they trying to find out exactly?" 

"I don't know. I just know I was a test subject, but even now, I couldn't tell you what they did to me or why." 

It's the first time he's ever heard him speak frankly about his experience, and it's unsettling. What would they use werewolves for? The first thing that comes to mind is genetic experiments, some kind of complicated gene splicing. Shiro mentioned there weren't that many around, so it stands to reason that the only way to create more is to either selectively breed them or grow some more out of a petri dish. 

"Did they stuff you in a cage with a female werewolf waiting for you two to breed?" 

At least, that question has the positive effect of making Shiro crack a smile again, defusing whatever bomb had just been about to go off in his head. Keith's relieved to see him return to himself, though he knows it won't be permanent. Guilt and agony are going to keep haunting him for the rest of his life if Keith doesn't help him find the answers he needs.

"Even if they did, there's no guarantee anything would happen. Wolves are a little more complex than that." 

His finger taps on his nose while giving Keith a look that says he should know what he means except no, Keith has no idea what he means. Both his arms rise as he shrugs his shoulders in confusion. That seems to draw out an amused chuckle Shiro who reaches over to ruffle his hair. 

"Never mind. You just worry about the bike for now." 

The matter is easily abandoned while Keith tries to remember what he'd been doing before getting distracted, though he tenses up when he notices Shiro suddenly stand and start looking around. The last time this happened, the both of them had nearly been taken out by that Prorok guy, so Keith doesn't plan on taking any chances this time. 

"A car is coming," Shiro says quietly, looking in the vague direction of where Keith assumes it is.

His fingers move behind his back where the hunting knife rests just in case he has to draw it while Shiro transforms quickly after tossing his clothes to the ground in a move that doesn't even surprise Keith anymore. He starts to see the outlines of the car along the road as it approaches closer, identifying it as a yellow Ford from two decades prior (by his rough estimate). There is no reason that car should still be alive, yet it is, chugging along at a smooth pace.

"I know that car," Keith tells Shiro, sliding the knife back into the back of his pants, "go hide inside." 

He waits until Shiro's soft wolf steps disappear into his house before he approaches the incoming vehicle, wondering what the hell this guy is even doing here.

"Long time no see," Hunk greets with a grin and a wave, his window open because Keith is pretty sure it no longer works anymore, "I'm going to go out on a limb here -and correct me if I'm wrong- but you _definitely_ decorated this place yourself, didn't you?" 

Keith's reply is a glare, his hands moving to fold over his chest, still trying to figure out how he even found him here. 

"Where did you get my address?" 

It's not even registered. He thinks.

"No how are you doing? Gee, I'm fine, Keith. Came all this way to bring you your assignments and not once did you offer to let me inside for cookies and lemonade," Hunk pauses to let his eyes skim around his property, looking clearly horrified by it, "You know, if you even have any of those things..." 

"You didn't answer the question," Keith presses. 

Hunk holds his hands up in placating gesture as he finally turns the car off and climbs out of it. 

"Okay, okay. I was just getting to that. If you'd let me continue, I would have told you that the school office only has the information of this Allura lady -nice lady by the way. Smooth voice. Anyway, I called her up, and she gave me your address once I told her I had some assignments to deliver to you because the school administration doesn't know how else to get them to you." 

Sounds... reasonable actually. He'll have to talk to Allura about giving out his address freely, though. What if one of those Galra guys gets a hold of it? Then again, they probably already know where he lives and are just biding their time and waiting for them to let their guard down.

Hunk's hand suddenly waves in front of his face, and his taller schoolmate looks at him with an expression of concern. 

"Earth to Keith. You in there?" 

The hand is quickly slapped away while Keith fixes him with an irritated look once more. 

"Just leave it inside. I'll get to it later."

He gestures towards the motorcycle parts, trying to indicate he was in the middle of something important. Schoolwork is the last thing on his mind. 

Unfettered by his laconic attitude, Hunk just carries the stack of folders and papers inside before pausing right at the doorway, and Keith belatedly remembers one _very_ good reason why he shouldn't have just waved Hunk off like that.

_'Oh no.'_

The only time he's ever moved this fast had been when wolves had tried to eat him not too long ago, which is a testament of his desperation at the moment as he sprints up the porch to stop Hunk, but it's too late. The other man whips around to face him, his eyebrows touching his hairline, and he looks ...disturbed, to say the least. 

"I can explain!" Keith starts quickly, trying to figure out how exactly he's going to explain a giant wolf in his house. There really is no logical reason for one to exist except the obvious - _werewolves_ -, but he's just going to hope that Hunk isn't going to immediately jump towards that conclusion. 

"N-no need. No, I get it. You're a healthy teenage boy and all, and Lance and I sort of suspected but, you know, having the confirmation staring me right in the face is kind of-"

...huh? His eyebrows draw together, trying to make some sense of his rambling.

"Hunk?" 

"-look, it's cool. It's _totally_ cool. I've been there. Well, not _there_ there, but sort of there-" 

"What on earth are you talking about?"

That seems to grab his attention, and Hunk's grip suddenly closes around his shoulders as he yanks him forward. His eyes look to both sides conspiratorially before whispering, "There's a naked guy in your house."

Oh.

 _Oh_.

_'Damn it, Shiro!' _Why didn't he stay in his wolf form? That would have been a million times easier to explain rather than trying to get around whatever weird logic Hunk has already come up with for this situation.__

__"It's okay, dude, like I said. I'm cool with it. You just do you."_ _

__That's not reassuring in the slightest. He wasn't even looking for this guy's approval. He follows Hunk back to his car, trying to figure out something more to say. All he comes up with is a feeble-"It's not like that!"_ _

__The truth is a lot weirder, so maybe he should just let Hunk leave with the wrong idea. What does he care anyway? It's not like everyone in school doesn't already think he's some kind of pariah. This would probably be one of the more normal things they've ever said about him._ _

__"Okay, I gotcha," an exaggerated wink, "secret's safe with me. I'll just leave you two alone."_ _

__Both of his own hands cradle his face as Keith groans, wishing the ground could just open up and eat him alive at the moment. But first, he's going to kill Shiro._ _

__"Shiro!" he yells between gnashed teeth, running up the steps to his house only to find him in wolf form, sitting there innocently, his head cocked to one side. "Would it kill you to put some clothes on every once in a while?!"_ _

__His tail thumps against the floor a few times, and Keith just. gives up. He's had a weird morning. He needs a shower and a nap._ _

__"You stay there and think about what you did!"_ _


	3. IX-XII

**IX.**

 

With his suspension winding down, Keith's managed to rack up an impressive number of overtime hours at the diner, having hoped to put that free time to use. It'd be better than sitting home all day and starving, though he's sure Shiro would have no trouble bringing him a dead rabbit or something if he was really that hungry. He just doesn't want to end up depending on him too much, especially when he'd been managing on his own for a long time. He also needs the money to buy proper engine parts after the ones he'd scraped together from the landfill ended up being no good. He might as well splurge on new ones so he doesn't have to take the bus anymore. 

It's nearly midnight by the time he clocks out, only stopping to dump the trash bags from the diner into the alleyway. If he hurries now, he can make the last bus out towards his home. His body half-turns to start sprinting only to freeze when he hears something drop right behind him. It's way too heavy to be a cat, but it definitely came from somewhere above.

The smell reaches him before anything else, picking up something like candle wax and burnt embers before he whips around to find another one of those guys dressed head to toe in army gear. The helmet is the most prominent piece, sci-fi lights flashing in his face before the guy grabs him by the throat and shoves him against the alley wall. Keith's hands immediately latch onto his wrists, pulling with all the strength he can muster to give himself room to breathe.

"You have him, don't you?" 

"Who the hell are you talking about?" Keith wheezes out, opting to play dumb even though he knows exactly who he's talking about.

That only serves to anger him, his fingers pushing in harder against his throat. 

" _Takashi Shirogane._ " 

_'He has a first name?'_ is the first thing that flits across his mind even though it's a rather dumb thought. Of course, he has one. Keith just never bothered to ask him what it is. 

"We have reports," the man hisses before moving away enough to slam him back against the wall again.

His vision explodes with lights and sparks, watching them sprinkle across the edges as the back of his head throbs from the impact. 

"I don't know who you're talking about," he repeats, refusing to give him anything to go off of, but it doesn't look like this guy will fall for it.

"Summon him." 

Even if he could, he wouldn't, but the pain is only getting worse, feeling his windpipe start to succumb to pressure. He coughs and gasps some more before he remembers the knife in his back pocket.

It's a long-shot, but it's time to put his cross-country training to good use. Like hell is he going to die like this, especially not without warning Shiro that these guys are still after him. His hand immediately slips behind his own shirt to yank the knife out from the makeshift holster he'd stitched together a few days ago. He closes his fingers firmly around the handle and tries to retain enough consciousness through the grip around his neck to suddenly plunge it into the guy's abdomen without warning. 

The impact is not as deep as he'd like it to go, not having had enough space between them to gain enough momentum to really shove it in there, but it's enough to make the Galran loosen his grip on him and let him go as Keith stumbles back in shock. That's all the opening Keith needs to suddenly take off running, pushing his legs to move as fast as they can. The bus he'd intended to catch home is already moving away from its stop, but he doesn't care. He keeps running alongside it, feeling his speed subtly pick up from sheer desperation and survival instinct until the bus starts to slow down to a crawl.

Once it hits the traffic light, Keith pounds frantically on the door until the bus driver opens it. He gives him a glare of disapproval, but Keith doesn't care at all, ignoring him and all the stares from the other riders as he slips his card through the machine. He doesn't let himself collapse until he reaches the back of the bus, sitting away from any of the windows. He doesn't want to know if that guy is still following him, especially since he'll still have to jog to get home when this bus reaches its last stop in the route. He's not looking forward to that as his legs are already screaming from the exertion, but he has no other choice.

 _'I have to get to Shiro.'_

That's the only thought that cycles in his mind as his fingers drum impatiently against his knee. His throat still aches, and it's hard to swallow but at least he's still alive. He clings to that one comfort as the bus moves through the still night. When it hits the last stop, Keith practically throws himself out of it and starts running anew. 

The wind bites at his face, reminding him that fall is starting to bring with it cool weather, but he doesn't let himself savor it. His heart is pumping too fast, and the adrenaline is swimming upstream through his veins as he hopes no one came after Shiro while he was gone. He wants him to be there, he wants to see his warm smile, he wants to make sure he's safe and that these bastards aren't crawling around his lawn, trying to drag him back to do who knows what. 

It's nearly a whole hour since he finished his shift before he reaches the front door of his house, and by then, he's beyond exhausted, ready to fall asleep on his own porch. If Shiro is there, he can't tell, the silence of the night wrapping around him in an unnerving stranglehold until Keith unlocks the door. Before his fingers can switch the light on, two palms come down hard on his shoulders, claws digging in so sharply that they threaten to tear his shirt. His back is slammed against the nearest wall, making him wince and wonder how many times today he's going to be rough-housed unexpectedly. 

The trigger happy part of his brain is already thinking he's being over-taken by another Galran, but before he can start to struggle, Shiro's scent hits him like a brick wall, trapping him in place. When he can't see him at all in the darkness, it registers to him as more overwhelming than usual, the only tell that he's not in immediate danger, but Keith isn't even 100% sure of that. There's something off about the way Shiro is holding him, and when his eyes peer back into his, he sees them glow menacingly instead of regarding him warmly.

A low growl erupts from Shiro's throat as he leans in, nose touching his neck and sliding up along the smooth slope to press into his jaw. The sniffing sounds lurid when it's right up against his ear like that, and though he knows he can move out of Shiro's grip easily, he doesn't, starting to worry something is very, _very_ wrong with him.

"Shiro," he finally whispers, hoping he can obtain the older man's attention. 

It doesn't work at all as Shiro's grip only tightens around him, and the claws sink in deeper, this time piercing through the fabric of his clothes and pinching into his skin. He's sure if he moves now he'll draw blood, but he tries to stay still and think of what he can do to snap Shiro out of whatever the hell has overtaken him. With his mind spinning like a broken carousel, he honestly can't think of anything, and he hates being this petrified but he doesn't want to hurt Shiro. 

_'Choose your battles wisely.'_

The words whisper into his mind, sensible and calm, but the man who said that and the man in front of him aren't the same person currently. 

"Shiro," he tries again, this time narrowing his own eyes as his muscles start to clench. 

Those eyes sear into him menacingly in response, and Keith tries to count to three in his head before gnashing his teeth together and growling back at him in return. The claws tear through him as he rips himself from Shiro's grip, but his own hands shove Shiro back as hard as he can, barreling into him with most of his weight before punching him hard across the jaw. 

"Shiro, _wake up_ ," he hisses, letting him know he's not going to allow him to surrender to whatever manic episode is overtaking him, "I know you're in there!" 

He then kicks Shiro swiftly against the stomach and watches the older man stumble back. His whole body starts to crumble to the ground right after, which gives Keith enough time to flip the lights on and examine him better. Shiro looks like a complete rag doll against the ground, his head lolled to one side as his eyes start to return to their natural color.

"I'm sorry, Keith," he murmurs, though there is something still dazed and detached about his expression. 

He's not quite all there yet, but it's better than how he'd looked seconds ago. His own shoulders sting as blood starts to dribble from freshly opened wounds, but Keith pays it no mind as he drops to the floor himself and reaches out for Shiro's chin. He turns Shiro's head sharply to look at him head-on, and that's when he closes the gap, pushing his lips against Shiro's without any warning at all.

There's no other reason why he does it except he wants to bring Shiro back to himself, resuscitate him the only way he knows how because he can't think of what else to do. He's tired, desperate, and freaked out. He wishes he could convey those feelings better, but hopefully, Shiro can read well enough between the lines, can read it in his scent, can read it in his body language.

 _'Come back to me, Shiro,'_ he pleads with that kiss as his fingers dig harshly into his jaw bone

When he pulls away, he doesn't expect the arms that circle around him and nearly strangle the air out of him, and Keith also doesn't recognize, at first, that he's being hugged. The fear slowly starts to ebb away as he hears their own ragged breaths even out, and Shiro murmurs another apology into his head. 

"It's okay… you with me now?" Keith asks quietly while his hands hang limply around Shiro's neck out of lack of any better place to leave them. He really sucks at hugs. 

"Yeah… yeah, I am." 

He's not entirely reassured by that, but he'll accept it for now.

"What happened to you?" 

Shiro's chin lands on his shoulder, resting there in such a defeated position.

"I don't know… I heard you approaching, and I smelled something on you. Something I'd smelled before. After that, everything went black. I couldn't think. I didn't see or hear you anymore." 

Keith's face scrunches up into a frown, remembering why he'd been in a rush to come home so fast to begin with. 

"It was that guy. Another Galra guy. He corned me after I got off work, but I escaped before he could do anything." 

That makes Shiro's entire body tense up, and he can feel the way his muscles are all locking together beneath his own. His head then whips up sharply as he drags Keith closer so he can sniff him more closely.

"I definitely know this smell," he says after a moment, and there's a subtle glow that returns to his eyes that convinces Keith he should put some distance between them. He's not sure he can take another attack from Shiro right now. 

His fingers dig into his biceps to pry him off so he can disentangle himself. His steps are unsteady when he climbs to his feet, but he manages to stay up out of sheer force of will. 

" _Don't_ ," he warns before quickly tugging his own shirt off. 

If that smell is what's driving Shiro nuts right now, then he's going to scrape it off his skin as quickly as possible. He doesn't like feeling like he can't trust him or let his guard down around him at all. He doesn't need this complication right now, especially when Shiro is involved. He feels stupid for believing that he was ever safe around him, even for a second. It's careless to let his guard down in front of anyone, let alone a wild animal.

Shiro's solemn eyes follow him as he disappears to the shower. They don't talk at all the rest of the night, and Shiro chooses to sleep outside on the porch. For once, Keith is grateful for the solitude as he feels the wounds on his shoulders sting all throughout the night. 

 

 **X.**

 

Even though his suspension is over, Keith skips school the next day to spend his time angrily pelting a worn out baseball against a tree. It doesn't calm him now even after his arms start to burn from the exertion, and he tastes sweat on his tongue and feels it roll into his eyes, leaving him uneasy. 

Shiro wanders around in wolf form, watching him quietly before coming to sit next to him. He's definitely a lot more calmed down compared to the frenzied state from the night before, but Keith can't bring himself to really relax. He doesn't even know what he's really upset about anymore. It's not like it was Shiro's fault he had reacted that way. He'd be more than a little enraged if he had to deal with the same people who did all sorts of strange things to his body. As far as he's concerned, Shiro has every right to go ballistic at them. He just wishes he knew how to fix him even though he knows it's impossible. People can't be 'fixed.' They just learn to deal with things as they come along, but no one can ever erase the past. Maybe, he's the one who has to get used to every side of Shiro -the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

His hand drops the ball after a moment, letting it sit in the dirt before he sinks down next to Shiro, his fingers finally reaching out to tickle his head. Shiro inclines more of his long, twitching ears his way, silently asking for scratches that Keith indulges him in while he stares outwards at the emptiness of the wilderness all around them. 

"I'm not mad at you," he says quietly, "I know you've been through a lot. I know it hurts. I know you don't like to talk about it, and I won't ask you to."

Shiro's ears twitch again against his fingers as he pushes back against them, letting him know he has his full attention. 

"I just want to meet you half-way on things. You saved my life more than once, so I want to do the same. But I feel helpless sometimes. I don't know how to save you from things that I can't hit with my fists." 

And feeling helpless is not a feeling that's ever sat well in his stomach. He's always prided himself on his strength and fortitude, his ability to just survive. Being responsible for a whole other person is still new territory for him. 

"Why have you even stuck around this long? I don't get it… you could have left a long time ago. What's making you stay?" 

There's no answer, but Keith hadn't been expecting one. He's sure Shiro has his reasons. He just hopes that he'll get to hear them one day. He doesn't know what to feel otherwise, if he should fear the day Shiro just leaves without a word. He wants to convince himself he wouldn't do that to him, but he doesn't know. He just. doesn't. know. 

Shiro's body shifts so he can turn his head to bump their noses together, and he finds himself staring down at his eyes, trying to decipher what he sees in them. His whole body is then tackled towards the ground by Shiro's bulk, and he doesn't expect for Shiro to transform at the moment and press down on him with his bare skin. 

The sun beats over the two of them, and even though it's October, everything feels unusually hot and sticky. It's all Keith can fixate on as he breathes in the humid air and tries not to scuttle away from this like he wants to because Shiro is all too present and solid on top of him. 

Without a single word, Shiro's face dips towards his neck, nose pushing in to inhale as both his hands slide under his body to cup his upper back. He feels them press in very carefully, avoiding the coagulated remains of his claw marks before dragging him even closer to his nose. When he speaks, it's a soothing vibration reverberating along the side of his throat and tickling the light hairs sticking to his skin. 

"I promise I won't ever hurt you again, Keith." 

Can he really promise that? Keith doesn't know, but something in Shiro's eyes reassures him that he'd sooner hurt himself than give in like that again. 

_'I want to trust him again'_ his mind whispers with a strong sense of unprecedented longing. 

The desire for a deeper connection is there, the beginnings of it having hatched long ago, but this is the first time he feels it becoming tangible against his body. With Shiro's warmth blanketing his own, he's starting to feel an edge of hunger he'd never felt before, and his eyes watch Shiro's mouth closely when he licks his lips. Something in his stomach cinches inward like a flame being tied into a knot at the very pit of it, and he's asking to be burned alive at this rate when he leans forward to try and bridge the gap.

Shiro does meet him half-way, lips pressing gently to his, the two of them moving like moth wings beating together before parting just enough to share a breath. Mint-tinged air rolls off Shiro's tongue like honey, and Keith drinks it up greedily, his own tongue stretching just enough to brush lightly against Shiro's. The texture of it is unexpectedly human but still soft and warm in a way that entrances him, bids him to chase it with is own, wanting to keep touching them together until he can't breathe.

When they finally part, the two of them are left panting a little noisily with no whistling wind to hide the sound. Shiro's eyes look darker to him than usual, but there's no rancor or ferocity there, just an emotion he can't really identify at the moment but is enthralled by. 

Their foreheads touch for a few seconds longer as Keith wills his body to calm down, trying not to react like an over-excited kid, but all the new sensations are easy to get drowned by. The veritable flood of them rushing towards him isn't anything he can outrun, and he's awash in a thousand new impulses he wants to indulge. He can't decide which one to follow right now, but every time Shiro's overpowering presence bears down on him like this, he gets the feeling that his own fraying sense of control will be torn apart one day. 

A drop on his nose breaks him out of his stupor before another one rolls down his cheek. It's cool and refreshing, but he knows he can't stay out here forever especially when his roof doesn't do too well against the rain. 

Shiro's body moves first before his hand reaches out to help him up to his feet, and he feels himself being tugged forth under Shiro's chin as his nose pushes back into his hair while he drags them both towards the house like that.

"Come on," Keith protests, "stop that. My smell can't be that good after all that sweating." 

His body is nothing like Shiro's which always smells immaculately of fresh spice no matter how long he's been running or rolling around in the dirt. He can only pick up the most pungent odors from himself, so he wonders why Shiro is obsessed with sniffing him all the time. 

There's a low chuckle as Shiro pushes his fingers up into the back of his hair, threading the edges into some of the sweaty strands there. 

"Didn't I already tell you? Your scent is never unpleasant to me." 

Those words hang in the air as Shiro finally pulls away to find some clothes. Keith watches his strong back disappear into the bathroom while his own heart makes a solid effort in trying to break through his rib cage. He wonders if there's something obvious that he's overlooking.

 

**XI.**

 

The next few weeks crawl by uneventfully with the season starting to change and the temperature lowering. Without any proper heating in his place, Keith can only stockpile blankets on top of himself during the night, having picked up a few extra from the local thrift shop. He tries not to picture it as wrapping himself in a bug-infested comforter that someone either died in or had sex on and just focuses on the heat fusing into his bones as he remains in bed for longer periods. Showering has also become less optimal except when he's at school and can crank the heat up on the water to scalding degrees, but Shiro doesn't say anything about it. He does catch him resting his snout on top of all the blankets at night and watching him which makes it difficulty to sleep sometimes, but Keith doesn't complain. It's an extra layer of warmth.

Some time in early December, he moves all the blankets to the ground and arranges them in an elaborate nest before finally allowing himself to sleep right up against Shiro's back. It's the best decision he's ever made because Shiro's fur is thick and endlessly warm, like having his own personal space heater. He also doesn't shift around much in his sleep or make a lot of noise, thankfully not into the whole howling at the moon thing. He must have figured it'd be a dead giveaway to his position if he did indulge himself in it. Either way, Keith doesn't mind any of this at all until Shiro does start to grow restless with what he initially assumed were nightmares.

He'd find himself being snapped awake by Shiro's whole body going rigid. Then he'd spot him walking in strange circles throughout the night or pushing the door open with his front paws to go out running. He always comes back an hour later, his eyes looking dazed and tired before he settles back into the sheets. Keith doesn't ask him about it because he figures it's just typical wolf behavior. What does he know? 

But then things get weird when Shiro's body whips around in his sleep, and instead of fur, Keith feels his bare hands crawl along his arms to embrace him. His own body grows alert at the moment, panic starting to singe its way across all of his nerve endings while he worries that Shiro's nightmares are taking a hold of him. He prepares himself to bolt away until he hears Shiro's loud breathing grow ragged against his ear. His entire body seems warmer than usual like a flaming column of flesh scorching into his back, and he feels Shiro shift his hips forward until there's something hard sliding down the back of his thigh, very subtly moving against him.

It doesn't take a genius to fit the puzzle pieces together, and Keith lies like an immovable log, trying to figure out if he should wake Shiro up, move, or ...what? He doesn't know. So far, they've only been dropping kisses here and there, but those had been few and far between. He hadn't really thought about what comes after quite yet even though his own body had been in the bad habit of getting worked up around Shiro's with little provocation. He's always managed to calm himself down fast with the crippling fear that Shiro would be able to smell it on him if he ever touched himself, but this is uncharted territory. He never imagined that Shiro had the same problem keeping himself in check even though Keith can swear sometimes that his scent does become more aggressive when he does. Right now, it's all he can inhale, feeling it drag across his tongue as it worms its way down his throat with each breath.

Before it gets too maddening, he chooses to escape, elbow pressing back into Shiro's rib cage just to create enough room to wriggle away from his body. If Shiro's aware or awake he can't tell, not pausing to turn back to look at him for fear of his resolve crumbling. He knows he'd do whatever Shiro wanted if he did, but he doesn't know if he's entirely ready for that level of trust. Instead, he crawls out and stumbles somewhat drunkenly in the dark, trying to grab onto the edge of the nearest surface to steady himself. His mind is whirling a mile a minute and he can feel heat puddling between his legs, making it hard to focus before he trudges into the bathroom to splash water on his face. 

He sleeps alone in the empty shower that night, shivering against the wall with only the meager curtain to blanket at him. Shiro towers over him in the morning, staring at him in concern as he wakes him up with a gentle shake to his shoulder. 

"Are you okay? What happened?" 

"Bad dream," Keith lies because if Shiro isn't even aware of what he did then he doesn't want to be the one to tell him. 

"You don't have to run away." 

Neither does Shiro has to when he gets up to leave in the middle of the night, but he does anyway. 

"It's fine." 

Another lie, but Keith will be late for school if he stops to talk about any of this in more depth. He doesn't want to, so he throws on whatever layers he can find strewn about and starts jogging towards the bus stop. This time, Shiro runs by him as a wolf, staring at him and pinning him in place likes he's trying to wear him out into telling him what's really bothering him. Keith isn't falling for the bait, and he ignores him until the bus comes.

The first thing he does when he gets to school is slip into the gym and jerk the shower on as hot as it'll go, letting it burn everything away. He drowns himself completely in the scalding sensation, letting the water slip down like molten lava until he's sure he can't take anymore. His half-hard cock rests against his own thigh, but he purposely doesn't touch it even though he's been feeling the frustration and urgency buzzing tightly beneath his skin since last night. 

It's impossible to concentrate at all while he's in school, leg tapping on the ground with nervous energy, and he misses it when the teacher calls him name three times until someone decides to throw a rolled up paper at his head. Keith doesn't even react with his usual anger, which is as much of a surprise to him as it is anyone else. 

He's utterly exhausted by the time he gets home, collapsing into the blankets without dinner or without jerking open a single book to study. The weight of the day settles on him, dragging him fast into sleep, and he barely reacts when Shiro's furry body slides around him later that night -barely reacts when he feels him sniffing around his hair again and when fur recedes to flesh, melting into his backside like a second skin. 

His eyes only shoot open when Shiro's wet panting slides along the back of his neck and when the thickness of his arousal pushes against him, clamoring for attention. Now, he's far from naive. He knows how sex between two men works, but he doesn't think Shiro is awake enough or aware enough of what his own body is doing right now. For that reason alone, Keith yanks himself away stubbornly and turns to Shiro to shove him awake, one hand pushing harshly against his shoulder until Shiro stirs. 

There is bleariness there in his expression, Shiro's eyes blinking at him slowly before he pushes himself up a bit and murmurs his name. 

"I can't sleep if you're touching me everywhere," Keith tells him bluntly, watching the slow realization bloom across Shiro's features.

In an instant, the older man's body transforms, fur sprouting everywhere from his skin until he's back in his wolf state, and he runs out wordlessly, leaving the door swinging in his wake. The cool air rushes to greet Keith in his stead, forming sheets of ice below his epidermis, and he can't help looking frustrated as he stands up and yells into the night-

"I didn't mean for you to leave!" 

Shiro doesn't come back for an entire week after that. It's agonizing and quiet, and Keith kicks himself every night for saying something. He should have just let him go at it. What does he care? It's just another biological function, isn't it? Like eating, sleeping, or going to bathroom. Why did he have to open his mouth? 

 

 **XII.**

 

The frustration and worry reaches its peak on the seventh day of not hearing from Shiro. Keith does nothing but pace and lose sleep, forcing himself to remember to feed himself regularly. Even worse is that the traces of Shiro's scent that cling to his clothes and all the sheets haven't faded at all, and Keith refuses to wash them out of fear of losing them. Against his better judgement, he's also dragged some of his shirts close to his nose, inhaling the fabric as he touches himself, letting his release spill across old towels that he tosses here and there. It's all so exhausting missing someone, not knowing if they'll ever return. He can't concentrate, thinking he might have just decided to leave forever or might have been caught by the Galra at some point. The possibilities flip around madly in his head, and he hears the unhampered wind outside constantly screeching. 

The temperature continues to lower, and the drops of snow fall on his hair as he finishes installing his new engine. The motorcycle purrs happily after, and riding around on it along the highway makes him feel like himself again. This is how it had been before Shiro had traipsed into his life. Just him and the road and nothing else.

Except when he hears a distant howl, his body moves without thinking, parking the bike and running through the forest. There are dead carcasses here and there, the smell of blood tingling along his olfactory senses as he runs in deeper, but he only finds regular gray wolves in the distance. They seem less frightening to him in the daylight as they nuzzle and lie against one another harmlessly. Keith can't help but watch for a while, his whole body resting against a tree.

That is, until a deep voice next to his ear startles him and makes him nearly jump out of his skin.

"What are you doing here?" 

His face turns around so fast that he almost gives himself whiplash, and he sees the cold air gather in front of Shiro's lips every time he breathes out. That's when he remembers that Shiro left without saying anything and that he'd been pissed off at him for doing so. 

"What am _I_ doing here? Where the hell were you?!" 

One of Shiro's hands moves to steady him, resting firm yet placating on his shoulder.

"It's the season change. Soon it'll be January."

Yes, he's aware of that. It's almost 20 degrees outside. What does this have to do with anything? 

Shiro's other hand closes around his chin, ushering him forward. 

"If I stay around you, I'll become territorial over you. I'll want to dominate you, but knowing you, you'd put up a fight the whole way. It's just how you are." 

The pieces click into place in his mind. He'd read that, too, in one of the wolf books. They mate once a year in winter. The alphas reassert their breeding rites on the pack. This whole time... it dawns on him that to Shiro, he's never been an equal at all but something to be claimed.

"What...," Keith starts before studying Shiro's face closely, trying to find the right words to communicate his own confusion. He wants confirmation. He wants to hear the words from Shiro himself, "...what am I to you?" 

Rough fingers move to cup the back of his neck, tugging Keith's head to the side enough so that he can reach his ear and whisper into it.

" _You're mine._ "

The words send sparks flaring across his spine and shake him to his very core because one side of him is exactly how Shiro had described. Unable to give in. Stubborn and completely aggressive to a fault. And the other side wants to buckle at those words and give him everything he wants and more. He doesn't know which is louder and more sensible, but the idea of losing Shiro at all far outweighs the ability to commit to any sense of reason.

It's why he finds himself angrily yanking Shiro down, fingers like talons where they push into his cheeks as he claims his mouth for a kiss. It hurts, but he wants to make it hurt more, putting his teeth into it and scraping the ends of them into Shiro's lower lip when he pulls away. He ignores the saliva that leaks down his mouth as he stares down Shiro in challenge.

"I'm not letting you go anywhere, Shiro. If I'm yours, then you're mine, too, _do you understand_?" 

That seems to penetrate through Shiro's thick skull because he watches his face crack into a smile and feels his arm move around his smaller body in a simple hug. 

"I like your stubbornness sometimes," he responds with a low chuckle, letting the contact last for a bit longer.

Shiro's wolf form ends up running alongside his motorcycle as they head back to his place. By then, the sun's already starting to dip low on the backdrop of the small shack, and there is a thin smattering of snow on what little grass surrounds his property. His stomach is also growling wildly, and he spares no extra time before raiding his own fridge for anything edible. He doesn't expect Shiro to change forms so fast nor does he expect him to beeline to the nest of sheets on the ground, sniffing all over it. It's weird to see him do that when he's wearing human flesh, and his self-consciousness starts returning him to fast as he mentally recalls how many times he'd jerked himself off there. 

That makes the skin around his face flush hotly, and he tosses an apple at Shiro's back to get his attention.

"Stop that! It's creepy when you do that." 

Shiro looks up at him with his head cocked innocently to one side. 

"I was just going to offer to help you with the laundry." 

Yeah right. If this is what he has to put with all winter, it's going to be one long, _long_ season. Fortunately, Shiro makes good on his promise and does spend the better part of the evening washing everything and actually wearing clothes. It's the quietest night they've had in a while, and Shiro doesn't even wake him up in the middle of the night this time by rutting against him.


	4. XIII-XVI

**XIII.**

 

Keith doesn't know what he imagined his first time to be like or if he's ever imagined it at all. Before Shiro, he hadn't really liked anyone _like that_ nor did he think about any particular person when he got off. Most of the time his mind had just been blank, and he would only concentrate on the feelings and sensations coursing through his body without settling on who he'd ultimately want to touch him and why. 

Faced with the prospect of losing his virginity very fast, he's suddenly forced to wonder if it should be this unceremonious. He'd only just gotten home from school a few minutes ago when Shiro had latched onto his belt with his fingers and yanked him down towards the wood floor, leaving his elbows to absorb most of the impact. They'll be cut up and bruised later, but he ignores the discomfort as Shiro's hands paw at his hair next, fingers thrusting in through the strands, balling around them to push their mouths close and bidding him to breathe in the same air. 

His own hands don't know where to move, grasping at the back of Shiro's shirt helplessly as he exhales loudly and tries not to respond too much to the weight of Shiro's hips bearing down and rocking against him. The older man wedges his lower body insistently between his legs next, leaving him completely ignited from that single push, unable to protest when Shiro is this frantic and hungry for contact.

It's only when Shiro's hands start to crawl beneath his shirt that he manages to edge some words out of his mouth.

"Shiro, hold on-" 

Shiro's mouth closes around his jaw, teeth pushing in, tugging and sucking on cool skin, drawing bruises on him as he moves across the bone. His stomach clenches at the sensation, feeling all the stimulation mount with the heat still pouring rapidly between his thighs from the way Shiro just won't stop rocking against him.

" _Shiro,_ " he tries again, letting more annoyance slip into his voice. 

He shoves a palm against his face for good measure, forcibly yanking him away from his jaw. 

"Get a hold of yourself for one second. I haven't even taken my backpack off." 

Guilt flickers across Shiro's eyes as he starts to move, but Keith can feel how hard he is. The heat is searing where his dick presses right up against his inner thigh, and he knows it's not Shiro's fault. He knows he's being pushed into this by sheer instinct and whatever manic impulses have taken a hold of his brain. It's nothing he can help, but Keith isn't really bothered by it if he's honest with himself.

Rather, he'd be more worried if Shiro didn't feel this way about him.

"Sorry," Shiro finally breathes out, the words ghosting across the side of Keith's neck as he places a small kiss there, "I can take care of it in the shower if you want." 

Keith's hand cups Shiro's neck to stop him from leaving as he sighs loudly and exasperatedly.

"No, I don't want that. I want to help you. I just- I never-"

"I know," Shiro interrupts before dropping another kiss, this one next to his adam's apple. 

"How much worse is it going to get for you?" 

He hears Shiro's quiet snort in response as he starts to nuzzle him.

"This isn't even the half of it." 

That is... rather alarming, and Keith tries to convince himself he'll get used to it. He just needs to learn and train himself like any other activity. He only wishes he had more of Shiro's instinct to access and less of his own mental hurdles to leap over. 

"Okay, give me another sec," he says slowly before pushing his backpack off and starting to tug his winter coat off. 

The chill immediately covers the bare skin on his arms, but he figures it won't be a problem anymore in a few seconds with Shiro lying against him. He takes another deep breath before staring up at Shiro watching him sharply, meeting his gaze more fully. His eyes are drowned in darkness, and there is something unmistakably intense and feral being drawn out across them. He feels pinned to his spot by it, unable to move as his heart starts to climb up his throat with how hard and frantically it's starting to beat.

Shiro's whole body moves with the same pliant ferocity as before, looking more like a prowling lion than a wolf, and Keith does his best not to scramble away this time when he covers him completely. His body temperature is unmistakably high and feverish against him, and his scent seems almost untamed in the way it starts to cloud all around him, immersing him further in the moment. 

When Shiro moves again, it's to push him over on his stomach so he can slide right along his backside, rubbing his still clothed cock into his rear and making it a little obvious what his intentions are. His own forehead touches the wood below, unconsciously drawing himself up on his elbows and knees to push back against him in a silent response, letting him know it's okay. He won't stop him this time.

The silent permission is all Shiro needs before he slides a hand under his shirt and strokes his chest with calloused fingers. His teeth come down around his neck, elongating where they touch his flesh, and Keith clenches his mouth shut to stop from protesting when the pain starts to bloom from how much pressure he's applying. The contrasting sensation of pain from his neck and pleasure from the way his fingers dance lightly over his nipple leave him dizzy, losing his grip on the situation the more he gives in.

He pushes back against Shiro's cock once more if only to see how much control the older man has left, knowing it must be fraying all over the place by now. He feels it in how his gentle hand turns claw-like when it scrapes down his stomach and practically rips his belt open. He feels it even more when his pants and underwear are tugged down to his knees and when Shiro's grip suddenly draws around his cock, stroking him fast and hard.

His own knees threaten to give out under the pressure, feeling them shake and part as Keith digs his fingers into the floor to scratch at it. He's never felt anyone else's hand there before, and the cool air from the ice cold temperatures outside are at war with Shiro's strong palm, squeezing all around him, coercing him to relax. 

Shiro's fingers continue to draw along the entire length, tracing over the different textures where his veins throb beneath his flesh, and the gentle exploration mingles with rapid, harsh pumps of his wrist, wringing out stuttered gasps from Keith's lips. It sounds foreign to his own ears, hearing himself like this -hearing himself echo off the walls and Shiro's panting picking up as he starts to rock up against him. He's still fully clothed, but Keith can tell how desperate he is for more, the yearning that he's barely holding back. 

That's when he takes the initiative and stretches his hand out to grab his backpack, tugging out a tube of muscle relaxant he's used on himself plenty of times after track practice. It's not the most ideal sort of lubrication, but neither of them are particularly picky at the moment. As it is, Keith will just have to bear the pain for now. 

"I'll buy something better later," he promises.

"I'll try and go slow." 

Shiro's reply is strained like he'd just swallowed sandpaper, but Keith knows he needs this. He's not so sure he doesn't also need it himself because his whole body language seems to be reciprocating even when his mind is at odds with what he's doing. It just feels natural to want him, to want to feel him pushing in deeply, _to want to feel him sliding so far inside of him where no one else has touched_. It's not just trust alone but something more innate, a feeling embedded straight into his bones that he's struggling to understand.

Faintly, he hears the cap being opened, the bottle being squeezed. His eyes clench shut as Shiro pushes a finger inside, and it hurts. It hurts so damn bad that Keith almost wants to stop right there, but whenever he starts to panic, he ends up inhaling more of Shiro's scent. It calms him down, pulls him deeper into Shiro's addictive urgency at the moment, and he starts to relax as Shiro massages him inside.

The hand wrapped around his cock doesn't let up, simultaneously stroking him and forcing him to split his attention again between pain and pleasure once more. With the dual stimuli, he can't really concentrate on thinking at all, but he wishes he could see Shiro like this, wishes he could see how wild, untamed, and captivating he looks behind him. All he can do is hear the way his breaths change tempo, the way they fill the space all around him and remind how badly Shiro needs this.

A second finger joins the first, stretching and pulling him apart, but only Shiro's voice grounds him and keeps him centered.

"Stay relaxed, Keith. I need you to stay relaxed…" 

It's the first thing he's said in a while between the long, pregnant pauses, but for some reason, the rumbling, low timber of his voice sends a satisfying shot of pure heat through him. His hips move forward unconsciously, thrusting into the cradled palm of Shiro's hand as he reaches behind himself to tug Shiro's head closer, pulling it over his shoulder. 

He holds him hostage there, his own hand digging into the short strands of his hair while he relishes in the way Shiro's breath crawls on his cheek just as his fingers move deeper inside of him. 

"Does it still hurt?" Shiro asks quietly.

It does, but Keith can live with it, he decides, so he shakes his head and waits for Shiro to apply more muscle relaxant to push a third finger in. It's overwhelming as hell, and he grits his teeth as Shiro slides into him and starts to make, smooth thrusting motions with his fingers.

The effect leaves him even more splintered and off-center than before, and he tries to focus more on Shiro's presence and the heat of his body behind him than what he's doing with his fingers just so he doesn't lose his nerve. He doesn't know if it's going to get better or worse when he finally enters him, but he can't stave off that feeling of being cleaved in half. For a second, he wonders if he can even do this, but Shiro's hands are moving down the length of his cock once more, brushing over the underside as his thumb pushes right into the slit to apply pressure, and it's such a simple motion that it takes him off-guard completely with how good it feels. 

A groan falls unbidden from his lips, spilling out more wantonly than he'd like to sound at the moment, and he glares sharply over his shoulder when Shiro does it again and makes the upper half of his body suddenly drop to the floor.

That's when Shiro decides to remove his fingers completely, and he feels one of Shiro's hands grip his hair roughly, clenching tightly around the strands just as the tip of Shiro's cock hovers so close to his entrance. His stomach starts to flop mercilessly as his fingers find purchase between the floorboards, and he does anything he can to not think about the pain while Shiro slowly pushes inside. 

"I can't go much slower with you…," Shiro's voice is reduced to choked out words broken up by heavy, uncontrolled breaths, "I'm sorry, Keith." 

He knows. _He knows_. He wants to say something reassuring, but he's chewing on his tongue and trying not to clench back up again. There's definitely not enough slickness from that cream, and he feels every single ridge on Shiro's cock as it pushes inside of him. It's unbearable, but he refuses to let the moment drag any longer, thrusting his hips back until Shiro is seated as deep inside of him as his body is going to allow.

That one action makes something in Shiro snap completely, and the fingers on his hair yank his neck back painfully while he starts to move with short, rough thrusts. Keith feels his knees pushing against he ground, his jeans being torn as they catch the splinters on the wood, and his palms scrape against the floorboards, trying to stop his chin from smacking into it every time Shiro thrusts inside.

It should feel good, _it should_ , but it's too much for him to take. His whole body starts to strain, and Shiro's breath keeps falling savagely against the back of his neck, reminding him this man isn't human. He's being controlled by a force that Keith can't even comprehend, a force that he fears might be starting to overtake him, too. His mind doesn't even know how to properly reconcile it, but he's aware that there are two opposing thoughts running along his brain at the moment: the one that still wants to run and the one that wants to surrender completely. 

A pained and frustrated growl suddenly rips through him, though Keith is barely aware that it's his own as his consciousness detaches further from the rest of his body at that moment. The room blurs into muted colors, and he stares at his own fingers, swearing he can see claws there growing out from where blunt nails used to be.

His whole body then moves as though possessed, seized by some unprecedented hunger that swallows him in one fell swoop and leaves him wanting. The pain starts to fade as quickly as it appeared, unable to even register it anymore when he bucks his hips back against Shiro, shoving himself back mercilessly against his cock. 

The frenetic pace leaves white sparks dancing across his vision each time their bodies crash into one another, drowning everything out in pure, unhindered euphoria, and he greedily chases after that sensation with each backwards thrust of his hips as he urges Shiro to pound inside him harder. He doesn't even know if he's asking him to out loud or just thinking it with his mind, but Shiro listens wholeheartedly with his hand moving to pin him down by the back of his neck as he buries himself inside of him.

Keith's eyes squeeze shut right there, lips open in a soundless cry when every muscle in his body starts spasming at once. He feels the sticky sensation of his release dribbling right out of him, staining the floor, and he also feels the way Shiro digs the clawed fingers of his other hand into his thigh as he shudders behind him. He really wishes he could see Shiro then, the savage way his face contorts, the sensual beauty of his posture when he comes inside him. His broad shoulders, sinuous back, and his wild eyes all together…

Keith tries to greedily picture it all in his head, feeling intoxicated and obsessed by the mental image alone as he drops to the ground. Everything aches, but he's too tired to move. All he can register are the deep scratch marks on the ground in front of him, idly wondering if those really came from himself.

_'…what am I to you?'_

His own words echo solemnly in his mind again, but then so do Shiro's.

_'You're mine.'_

He feels Shiro's tongue touch the back of his ear afterwards, licking him in affection before carefully pulling out of him. Then his arms grab him from behind and tug his back to his chest while they both lay on their sides on the floor, and he's holding him trapped there as Keith's breathing starts to slow down.

"How long did you know?" Keith finds himself whispering while he trails his fingertips over the scratch marks.

Shiro's arms squeeze around him a little tighter.

"I had my suspicions when I first met you. I'd never seen a human who could run as fast as you can. But when you told me you could smell me… that's when I knew." 

Keith wants to be angry at him for not saying something sooner. He wants to yell, bite, scratch, scream, _do something_. 

But he doesn't. 

Maybe it's the recent orgasm that's fried him out completely, but his only reaction is calm acceptance.

 

 **XIV.**

 

Winter brings with it lengthy vacation days that Keith has spent mostly on the floor of his house, immersed in Shiro's body every second he gets a chance. He forgets to eat in between cradling Shiro against his legs as he rocks over him on the mattress or feeling the sink dig into his lower back as they barely make it to the shower to wash up. At some point, that manic energy starts to whittle down between the two of them, and clarity starts to return, letting them take things more slowly, exploring one another with more care and gentleness. Keith isn't sure if he likes this pace better, but he does enjoy the idea of having more control over his mental faculties. It gives him more time to really watch Shiro when he's pressed against him and to process the fact that there's shared wolf blood in his veins, though Shiro had confessed he had no idea exactly how much since Keith's family tree is a complete mystery.

As far as Keith knows, he can't really transform fully, though Shiro's noted the way his teeth sometimes sharpen, the guttural quality of his growl when he's stressed or really angry, the claws that keep leaving scratches up and down his back, adding to the map of scars on his body. Keith always feels bad about them after, quietly cleaning over them with a cool wash cloth, but Shiro has assured him that it doesn't bother him. He wonders if it's just a weird little turn-on that the older man won't voice because in spite of his wolf-nature, he's surprisingly conservative when it comes to talking about sex. Most of the time, he doesn't even mention or bring it up. They just do it, and then, it's done.

Still, the unanswered questions twist in his mind as he stares at himself in the mirror. He doesn't have Shiro's strong, unconquerable gait or his sharp eyes. There's only a human face staring back at him, and when he yanks his lips down, his canines aren't protruding like they should be. It almost feels like he's imagining it half the time, but he had also thought the same about Shiro when he met him. 

_'What am I?'_

That question won't stop haunting him. Is he more human than animal? Does he have a split brain? Does Shiro only cling to him because he's the only other one of his kind? 

His lips curl unpleasantly at that last question, having hoped that wouldn't be the case, but it's not like he's any better. Doesn't he also cling to Shiro because he has no one else to rely on? 

A sigh leaves his lips as he pads out of the bathroom, and Shiro lays there in his wolf form, watching him curiously. Keith can't help but sit down next to him to run his hand over his mane as he allows his muscles to slowly relax. 

"Do you ever plan on searching for your pack?" he suddenly asks, breaking the stillness in his room.

Shiro's ears lift in alarm before he turns to look at him in surprise.

"What about the Galra," Keith continues, "they're going to keep coming after you. Don't you remember anything at all?" 

He watches the wolf head shake from side to side, grey eyes radiating solemnity. It's too much to ask for, he knows, but he can't think of any other way to help him find some kind of closure over the past. Maybe there never will be for him, and that's something Shiro is just going to have to gradually accept. But Keith is bad at giving up. Relentless stubbornness is as much a part of him as every blood vessel in his body.

The rest of the week meanders by slow and uneventful. Occasionally, they both go jogging together or Keith plays snow frisbee with Shiro who silently appreciates the work-out. They also spend some time hunting, and Shiro shows him how to skin rabbits and remove the meat from their bones, but it still doesn't have anything on eating an actual burger someone else killed and cooked. 

The craving for _real_ food draws Keith into town with promises to Shiro that he'll be back in an hour. He finds himself in line at his diner, abusing his employee discount for two greasy hamburgers and a whole bag full off fries. Just as he's about to escape unscathed, Hunk appears in front of him with his usual grin, and his nose can't help but twitch around him, picking up the raging scent of several different types of cheese. What the hell was he doing... 

"How's it going, Keith? Haven't seen you all winter. Holding up in that shack of yours?" 

The concern from him is a little surprising -if that is concern at all. Keith's still too busy being shocked by the wall of cheese he's inhaling to properly analyze his tone. 

"Did you... did you bathe in cheese earlier?" 

"Huh?" Hunk's face looks honestly dumbfounded before he lifts one of his armpits to smell. "Not really. I mean, I had homemade nachos, but that was last night. It was a nacho tower. You see- the secret to a good nacho is you can't skimp on the cheese. None of that bargain stu-"

Keith's hand covers Hunk's mouth as something else triggers his sense of smell. It's familiar. 

_Burnt candle wax._

He knows that smell, and his heart starts to race, his eyes darting around frantically until he settles on a particular silhouette. No army clothes this time. He's dressed down in a plain outfit, but that's definitely the same smell. Keith would recognize it anywhere. 

His hand falls from Hunk's mouth as he watches the man get inside one of the cars that's parked along the sidewalk. A split second later, and he's already moving towards his motorcycle at a break-neck speed, leaving the food abandoned so he can follow. 

_'Sorry, Shiro. Lunch is going to have to wait.'_

"Wait!" Hunk calls out, but it's too late. He doesn't even spare a glance back at him as he revs up the motor and takes off after the car, following closely behind as it mounts the highway. Luckily, the road is not covered in bumper to bumper traffic at this time of the day, so he can keep up fairly easily. His eyes scan his surroundings as he wonders where this guy is going. None of this is recognizable to him, but then again, he usually goes riding out the other way towards the wilderness and avoids the metro areas. 

The car heads towards one of the exits on the left, forcing Keith to skid across three lanes, abruptly following it. It doesn't stop until it reaches a guard station outpost, and Keith hangs back behind a copse of bushes to watch as it's waved through by the security guard. Up ahead, he can see an entire compound with the words 'Galratech' emblazoned on the outside. To any onlooker, it'd probably appear to be a run of the mill pharmaceutical company, but Keith already knows more or less what sort of activities go on inside. How could they have managed to stay hidden in plain sight for so long? 

Either way, he has to get inside, though he doesn't know how he's going to bypass security. He'll have to move fast. With all the sentries and high-wired fences, he knows he'll be shot down and captured if he makes a wrong move.

His legs crouch before he breaks off into a sprint towards the guard station. None of the other surrounding guards have detected him yet, so he kicks open the station door and immediately slams the guard against the nearest surface, shoving him to the wall with his entire body. He holds him imprisoned, fingers moving rapidly to pluck free all his identification. The guard tries to grab his gun, but Keith spots him before he has a chance and twists the moving arm enough to make him drop the gun completely. He then kicks it away out of reach and shoves the guard against the wall once more for good measure. 

When he releases the guard's body, he watches the man crumple against the ground which grants him freedom to grab his gun and make-off with his ID badge towards the compound. A few gun shots are already ringing out from other guards and he can hear the sounds of that guy's back-up drawing in, but if he can outrun a pack of wolves, then this is nothing. His legs push him as fast as they'll allow him to go, his whole body moving and dodging until he can see a parking garage in the distance. He leaps over the guard rail like it's a track and field hurdle and keeps running, unsure what he'll find at the other end. All he knows is that he has to get inside -he has to see what they're hiding. He has to know.

 _'For Shiro,'_ his mind whispers. 

He's almost out of breath by the time he reaches the entrance to the building, and the ID he stole doubles as a key card, granting him quick access. There are two orderlies on the other side that Keith makes quick work of, punching one then shoving him against the other. They stumble and crash against the wall together while Keith tries to figure out where to go and what to do. Honestly, he had no real plan for what he'd do when he actually got inside. 

There's only a series of sterile hallways to the front of him and cameras everywhere with the alarm blaring overhead, overpowering the lights with ominous red hues. More security will come soon, that much he knows, but he has to keep going.

His feet trudge down the hall, trying to be somewhat stealthier as he moves through, unsure what to expect when he turns the corner. It's definitely not rows and rows of see-through plexiglass cells. On the other side of them are wolves of various ages and colors, all appearing dazed, tired, and dehydrated as they lie on the ground. One of the larger ones watches him curiously, its eyes looking wise and stern. Another smaller one with orange fur next to it perks up and paws at the glass, whimpering quietly. 

Without thinking, Keith runs up to it, fingers touching the paw through the glass, unable to stop his instinctive desire to help. These obviously aren't regular wolves at all, and he's sure Shiro's pack is in here somewhere. He just has to get them out -get them _all_ out. He's not leaving until they're all free.

He swallows down a quick breath before moving to one of the computer consoles. His eyes skim across all the text and commands, trying to figure out what they mean.

"Which button do I press?" he mutters in frustration before deciding to just press them all. He might as well. 

Incidentally, all the button mashing does nothing at all to affect the cells, but more and more, the wolves have started to stand, observing him closely with unnaturally focused eyes. Some have started to bare their teeth a bit while others push against the plexiglass relentlessly, struggling to get out. He doesn't know if letting them out is the smartest decision to make, but it's the one he's sticking to. Leaving them here in captivity was never an option to begin with.

More buttons are pushed haphazardly until Keith's fingers curl into a fist, and he decides, instead, to punch through the machine. Very few of life's problems can't be solved this way.

Another alarm blares from the corner, even louder than the rest, and he's relieved as the latches to all he cells come undone. The werewolves fling themselves out in droves, tossing their bodies until they can free themselves just as the security guards start scrambling around the corner. Keith's only given a few seconds to dodge the bullet that comes his way before he watches his assailant's throat being torn in half by a particularly large black wolf. The older wolf with the wise eyes approaches Keith more calmly, snout pushing against his arm while it stares up at him. Keith wonders if it's a show of gratitude, but he doesn't think on it much, crouching down to pet its thinning mane. 

"Don't worry about me. Just run." 

More gunshots ring through the hallway, startling the younger wolves into a frenzy, and Keith tries to buy them more time and freedom to escape as he pulls out the stolen gun to shoot one of the guards. His aim isn't too bad, managing to catch him in the arm enough to make him drop his gun, and he moves to steal it away before he feels something sharp embed itself in the back of his thigh. It hurts where it's pushed in, his entire muscle seizing up from shock, and his whole body collides with the floor as his vision starts to darken around the edges. 

His sweaty fingers blindly reach for what it is, thinking it might be a bullet, but instead, he encounters a long steel dart protruding from the thickest part of his thigh.

 _'A tranquilizer.'_

He winces more at what it is than how much it hurts. There's no way he's going to get out free now, but it doesn't stop him from trying to run even as his body crashes against the wall and as his legs start to weigh him down like they're enclosed in concrete. He can barely pick them up, and the darkness swallows more of the sight right in front of him, stealing him further and further from the realm of wakefulness until his cheek hits the cold floor. The last thing his senses fixate on before he blacks out completely is the smell of burnt candle wax. 

 

 **XV.**

 

Instinct tells him something is wrong when Keith doesn't return in an hour. When it hits two, Shiro knows the prickling feeling on the back of his neck and between his eyes is not mild paranoia but a legitimate warning being pressed straight into his nerves. There's danger where Keith is, and that's all his mind can grasp before he removes his clothes, putting everything into a bag to carry between his teeth. He'll have to change to board the bus that leads into town, intent on following Keith's trail.

Keith had told him he'd be going to the diner and back, no mention of other errands. It's why the fact that he's taking this long is so startling, and after what he'd said about being attacked there once before after his late shift, Shiro has no reason to believe the Galra don't already know everything about him -or at least as much as they could gather going through his records. 

The Galra's motives had been something Shiro hadn't spoken of to him in great detail, only recalling bits and pieces of his captivity. He remembers men strolling to and fro in lab coats, constantly peaking in on him, the plexiglass windows and doors all around, the strong scent of chemical burns from the neighboring cells. Every once in a while, they'd bring a syringe to push into the meatier part of his leg, keeping him docile. He knows there was also a day or so that he'd been completely knocked out and had woken up with stitches on his right arm, but he still doesn't know what they'd done. 

Any other person would have gone to a hospital by now to check, but Shiro doesn't have that luxury. His physiology is too different. A doctor would be able to tell something is off about him, so he's lain awake at nights wondering and trying to sift through his scattered memory bank. 

He hears voices, too, scratchy deep ones in the back of his head that taunt him and tell him he'll be their most magnificent creation yet. Shiro doesn't want to find out what they meant by that, still worrying one day that he'll become completely unstable and hurt Keith. It's better not to think about it, unwilling to give himself an excuse to have to leave Keith a second time.

It had been hard enough making that decision the first time, knowing that Keith hadn't been aware of his own wolf side. Shiro had also never been around a mix before, leaving his own instinctive urges more of a brutal mess than he'd been prepared to deal with. By all accounts, Keith should have been an omega, but he never once behaved or smelled like one to him. Obedience isn't even a word in Keith's vocabulary. He has the mental strength and defiance of an alpha, which made him feel conflicted on how the two of them would fit together harmoniously. 

He knows a part of wanting him so badly had been just plain and simple attraction. He'd been drawn to him since the first night he saw him and had a hard time from keeping away even if reason dictated that Keith was too young, too rash, and too emotional for a proper relationship. Yet Shiro ended up plunging on recklessly ahead because he'd been just as alone as Keith with no idea what happened to his pack. He was an alpha with no one to protect and look after. 

With Keith, all the alpha instincts remain in tact, but they have also been warped in strange ways, leaving him constantly struggling how to approach and appeal to Keith's human side. If he's too assertive, Keith will rebel, and if he's too gentle, Keith will become frustrated, but Shiro stubbornly clings to the idea that Keith is still his. He became his responsibility from the moment he saved him, and he'll be there for him until the day he dies. That is one truth he can't scrub loose from his mind nor would he ever want to. He'd seen how lonely Keith had been out here, how much he avoids crowds and other people, how it's made him naturally untrustworthy and suspicious of others. 

They may defy all standard definitions of a pack together, but it's what they are now. 

The thoughts continue to tumble around inside of his head as Shiro runs to the bus stop. By now, he's returned to his human self, tugging his clothes on while walking as fast as he can to wait for the bus's arrival. There's no one else out here which is a relief as no one has to bear witness to him jogging around half-nude and trying not to trip over himself while putting his boots back on.

It never stops feeling strange to have clothes on lately after having resolved to live as a wolf for so long. He himself had kept his human contact limited, knowing there were people like the Galra chasing their kind down everywhere and hoping to keep them in captivity. It had been safer to roam the wilderness and embrace it completely than to navigate an urban jungle. 

All eyes follow him when he finally boards the bus, and he thinks for a moment that his wolfishness is still oozing out of him in spite of the human skin and layers of clothing on top. He knows it's irrational, that they can't smell a single thing on him because the human olfactory sense isn't that sensitive, but he still tenses like it's true and sits in the back uneasily to feel the bus rattle from side to side along the road. The diner Keith works at is one he only knows by name but can't recall ever having been to. Fortunately, he remembers which stop it's at and finds it easily. 

When he pokes his head in, he doesn't expect to find Keith at all, but right now, he's searching for clues wherever he can. Faint traces of his scent still remain in the air, meaning he'd been here for a while rather recently. He picks up even more of it as he moves further inside, following the trail through the overwhelming stench of low-grade diner food and grease. His eyes stop on a pair of brown grease-stained bags sitting in front of a face he remembers all too well.

It's Keith's schoolmate, the one with the yellow headband.  

"Oh hey," the young man greets, his eyes widening with equal recognition, "Keith's boy-er man…friend. Manfriend." 

He waves to him awkwardly, showing too much teeth when he smiles. Shiro can pick up his uneasiness in a second, so he tries to placate him with a friendly smile and a wave in return.

"Hey. I didn't get to introduce myself formally last time- I'm Takashi Shirogane" 

"It's okay!" Hunk stammers, standing up from the table, "No biggie there. You looked busy anyway. You guys…looked busy." 

There's a hint of red crawling up his ears and making its way down his neck, and Shiro isn't even sure if it was something he did or said. He really needs to get some information, and flustering him would be detrimental to that.

"I'm actually looking for Keith right now. Did you see him come through here?" 

That seems to catch Hunk's attention as he jerks his thumb to the greasy bags. 

"Yeah, he was here like an hour or so go. He bought those then just ran out of here, so I kept them safe for him. Also was playing this new app on my phone. It's pretty cool. You have to get the chimera to eat three donuts at once." 

More information than he needed, but it's a start at least. So he was right. Keith _had_ made it all the way here, but why did he leave without the food? 

"Was he with anyone when he left or by himself?" 

Hunk shakes his head before glancing at the window. "By himself. He took his bike. Looked like he was going after some car because he took after it like a maniac. Still can't believe he left his uneaten food here just like that. You got to respect the food, man." 

If Shiro wasn't currently worrying about Keith's whereabouts and where his recklessness could have taken him to, he'd be amused by Hunk's words. He honestly doesn't know why Keith dislikes his schoolmates so much. 

His hands close around Hunk's shoulders, leveling a serious look at him as he gets his thoughts back on track. Keith could already be in deep trouble. 

 "Do you know which way they went? Can you take me there? I'll let you keep all the food in exchange." 

Hunk barely needs to think about that, grinning openly.

"Deal. Come on." 

The car is a sporadic thing, shaking furiously with the effort to start. Hunk has to give it a couple of tries before it starts to move, and it becomes obvious that it might potentially fall apart should it reach a speed higher than 40 MPH. At least, that's why Shiro assumes Hunk is driving so slowly anyway. 

"-You see, the nacho tower isn't just something that could be made by piling nachos on top of each other. First, you need to build a solid artisanal cheese base as the foundation. It's pure engineering." 

Shiro has no idea what he's going on about, having ignored most of it in lieu of trying to force his memories out. Keith has to be around here somewhere, and if he's following the Galra, certainly they'd be heading towards the labs where he was held. All Shiro can recall are the weird, nauseating smells from inside it and the dull colors. He doesn't really know how he got there or how he got out. He'd still been drugged and had been running like he'd been intoxicated, crashing into things while his vision had been covered in a thick fog. There was a guard station most definitely. Bullets had whizzed by on either side of him when he escaped, and he had heard the overwhelming sound of sirens. 

But that's not enough. He needs to know which exact road he'd taken, and Hunk's ceaseless driving in circles isn't getting him any closer. He rubs the bridge of his nose and tries to force his eyes to take a more wolflike quality as he peers outwards.

 _'Come on, you know this.'_

"-and then you really got to slather the layers with not just cheese but jalapeño sauce. Like get deep in-" 

No, still not working. Wait.

_Wait._

Shiro's body jerks forward as he thinks of nachos. Specifically, the shape. 

" _A triangle._ The highway. There's a large red triangle sign there because of the sharp winding curve." 

He suddenly reaches out and tugs on the steering wheel to force Hunk to pull-over as he gives him an apologetic look.

"Can we switch? I think I can get us where we need to go."

Hunk's eyes stare at him like he's gone insane, but he doesn't take offense. After all, he is commandeering a car from a high school boy to go after his reckless mixed-species boyfriend. He fully deserves that look.

"Sure, man. You do what you need to do."

The driver's seat isn't a place he'd found himself in quite a while. Planes were more of his thing, but he doesn't find it all too difficult to try and let his muscle memory do all the work. Unlike Hunk, he hits the gas pedal almost to the car floor, speeding off hurriedly. Who knows in what state he'll find Keith in? Who knows how long it's been… he just keeps hoping that he managed to survive, but if he's anything like himself, he'll fight. Survival is in their blood. 

Hunk's face blanches completely next to him, his body pasted back against the seat while he holds on for dear life. His hands turn white with how hard they grip the seat, and his seat belt looks like it's only remaining tied with a prayer.

"Can you… can you slow down?? This car isn't insured! My uncle just gave it to me like three months ago for my birthday! _OhgodohgodI'mgonnadielunchiscomingbackup!_ "

"I'm sorry," Shiro replies, really feeling bad about this, but the more he drives, the more he lets his baser instincts take over, guiding him. He passes the sign and follows the curves of the highway while his mind starts running through possible numbers. Which is the exit he's supposed to take? He'd passed it. He's sure he'd ran past the sign and the numbers.

_'42.'_

It's coming up. 

"Hold on a bit longer, buddy," Shiro tells him, patting Hunk reassuringly as he drags them over a couple of lanes to get off at the exit. Once he's off, the picture in front of him -the intersection, the winding roads- everything conforms too perfectly with his memory. He knows, without a doubt, that he's been here before. Sure enough, Galratech starts to appear in his field of vision as he continues to drive.

Hunk stays slumped over in his seat, groaning as he rests his forehead against the cool window. 

"Are we there yet?" he mutters in absolute misery.

"Yeah."

Shiro pulls up on the side of the road, leaving enough distance that the yellow car and Hunk won't be spotted. He doesn't need to drag him any further into this especially after being so generous with him. 

The car door is swung open without much ceremony, and Shiro's already heading out as he leaves Hunk to recover.

"I appreciate the lift," he calls out before springing through the trees and starting to approach the gate.

Keith's smell hits him immediately, and he knows, for certain, that he's passed through here rather recently. Even more telling is the fact that he can see his bike sticking out between the bushes. A quick perusal only shows that he'd left his helmet behind on it, but there are no signs of distress or activity. He hadn't been attacked on the way here as far as he can tell.

He continues to follow along the scent trail, already spotting the surrounding guards in the guard station. They're so distracted inspecting the mess around them that it's almost childishly easy to run by them. By the time they realize he's passed through, he's already far ahead, having the clear speed advantage, though he slows down when he sees something large on the ground. 

It's brown and covered in fur, and Shiro's heart clenches the closer he gets to it. 

_'A wolf.'_

It's covered in bullet holes, but it looks like it took out a few guards on its way out. The stench of blood is definitely heavy in the air, hanging like a curtain all around the entranceway the further he ventures, and he sees the sight of broken skin, flooded out entrails, and maimed scalps everywhere. There had definitely been a lot of carnage here moments ago, though he also picks up Keith's smell beneath it all. 

Fearing the worst, he forces his body to collect itself and just head inside the building. The doors are broken off their hinges, and there are more scientists and orderlies strewn around, all lifeless and unmoving. The trail of death continues down the hall, the aftermath of a war that he should have been a part of. 

_'Damn it, Keith, why didn't you wait for me!?'_ his mind cries out, but he can't afford to be distracted.

His priority right now is confirming where he is and what happened to him, but his scent feels scattered all over the place the further he walks in. His blood is somewhere mixed in this mess, but it's not a lot. There's also the scent of chemicals thick in the air, making his stomach turn as he remembers the way they'd been plunged into him day in and day out. Back then, he'd been chained up, fighting against the bonds while they muzzled him. A new syringe would be brought out by the hour, filling him with who knows what.

He tries sniffing again, sorting out all the smells, until he stops on one door. There's a small window at the top of it, and sure enough, Keith is there on the other side, his limbs spread out and latched to the table with cuffs. His face looks relaxed with what he hopes is sleep and nothing else. 

His hand moves to the handle as he gets ready to ram his shoulder into the door, only to find that it opens easily. 

"…Huh." 

Alarm bells go off in his head instantly because there's no reason why they'd leave it unlocked unless it was done on purpose. He's sure it's a trap, but that doesn't stop him from rushing to Keith's body and pushing his fingers to check for a pulse. 

With a large sigh of relief, he finds it faintly throbbing against his fingers. He's alive. Just knocked out. 

His eyes immediately start searching his body for any more injuries. A few scrapes and bruises are all he finds, all superficial and faint. He hadn't been beaten much, and there are no bullet wounds anywhere. 

Now, how is he going to undo the metal cuffs holding him down? They're mechanical, so he'd need some kind of remote to get him out. He doesn't see any lying about and has half a mind to try and carry him out on the table just like that. How far would he even get? 

Just as that thought crosses his mind, the door behind him shuts tightly, and he can hear the lock slide in place before the metal cuffs on Keith's limbs all simultaneously are withdrawn. 

Someone's messing with him now… his stomach clenches with the rise in tension in the room, trying to find out who they are, where they are, and where they're watching them from. 

A speaker in the corner emits static, drawing his attention, and Shiro approaches it as he hears a faint voice. 

"Welcome back, Shirogane. How long has it been since you stalked these hallways, the proud and unflappable alpha?" 

_'That voice.'_

He doesn't know why, but it stings through the back of his mind, causing him to hunch over and clutch his ears. He's heard it so many times in his nightmares, whispering against his ear with promises of what he'll become. The great monster that he'll create out of him. 

"No…," he whispers, his own voice quivering as it wraps around the word. 

_'I'm not a monster.'_

How many times had he told himself that? Even as a child in his elementary class when he'd chase cats with the other kids, only to find himself accidentally pushing his claws through their flesh. He just wanted to play. He didn't know how to use his strength back then. 

_'I'm not a monster.'_

His hands remain cradling his ears, hoping to block out the cackle, but the only thing that breaks through his mantra is another quiet voice coming from the same room.

"Shiro…?" Keith's voice is a soft whisper as he watches the younger man sit up. His face is as pale as the walls, but his eyes are more vivid than Shiro's ever seen them. 

How many times had he lost himself in the beautiful color of them, trying to find sanity in the way that the dark blues and purple of them swirl around one another. That color isn't one he'd seen on any other human before. 

"Shiro!" Keith repeats, his tone now more panicked as he scrambles off the table. 

Both his hands close around his wrists, moving them from his ears, and Shiro wants so badly to embrace him except he's sure something awful is about to happen. That sinking feeling in his stomach keeps pooling deeper by the second. 

"Are you okay?" Keith asks, and urgency keeps bidding him to push his nose into his neck, to inhale and calm himself down.

"Well, isn't this tender?" the voice teases, "but your sweet reunion isn't meant to last long, I'm afraid. The mutt owes me a great debt for the wound he left me with." 

_'Mutt…?'_

Does he mean Keith? His eyes flicker up to his face, wondering how they'd also been able to discern his mixed blood. Did they test him? The idea of them touching and pawing at his unmoving body sends a fresh wave of anger coursing through his blood as his teeth start to elongate into fangs in his mouth. He hears the low guttural growl ripped free from his own throat as he glares in rampant displeasure at the speaker. 

"I like that righteous anger," the disembodied voice continues, "always on the verge of losing control, but you don't even know what your body can do, do you? Perhaps, it's a good time to show you my modifications." 

"Modifications?" Keith repeats, the word foreign in his mouth, but Shiro feels it right away.

His right arm starts to burn as it glows with an eerie purple light that envelops it from within. His flesh becomes engulfed in the harsh flames licking at the inside of his nerve endings and spreading outwards as his whole hand starts to shift as though the bones are growing and stretching passed their capacity.

The claws that appear are monstrous, and his skin takes on a sickly color as the veins start to protrude vividly under the surface. The entire appendage keeps glowing as it throbs, and all Shiro can do is stare at it, unable to believe this is really him. This is a real part of himself… 

"No…," he whispers quietly, unwilling to accept it. Keith's eyes are equally wide as he stares down at it.

"It's magnificent, isn't it? But still incomplete like the rest of you. You were the most receptive of your pack. The only one who could take all the toxins. The only one who could handle the implant. The rest of them all died on the operating table. I guess that's the beauty of being an alpha." 

Shiro's eyes widen as the words drill into his head, pain starting to ebb and explode as the memories keep flooding through. He'd been on an operating table like Keith had been just now, strapped in and dazed. There had been a morphine drip in his arm, keeping him in a perpetual haze, but he still felt the pain in his arm from where they'd sliced through. The wounds never stopped feeling fresh day in and day out, and he picked at the stitching irritably, desperate to know what was underneath. He was always shocked for it with the collar they had on him. 

Somewhere in that state between dreams and reality, they'd told him all the names of his pack members with the word deceased tacked onto the end like they were rattling off a grocery list. One by one, they had died, and he'd been the sole survivor.

 _'Why?'_ he asked himself each day, the guilt piercing through him so deeply that he'd been left hollow as a result. Why hadn't he saved them? Why _couldn't_ he save them? He promised to protect all of them, but he could do nothing in the end. He didn't even get the honor to bury them himself. Their bodies had been chucked into an incinerator to become forgotten.

Pain prickles behind his eyes as his head drops, knowing it's all true. In the end, he let them down. 

"Now, let's give your arm a proper demonstration. The last time you did this, you weren't in a good state of mind. You actually managed to overtake the orderlies, but that won't be happening this time." 

The purple glow grows almost blindingly bright, forcing him to shield his gaze away from it before it starts to move of its own accord. The rest of his body follows piteously, and his mind barely has time to register the fact that it's going for Keith's throat, slamming his slimmer body back against the wall while holding him there.

Keith gasps out in pain, the sound scratchy and broken as it leaves his throat, and Shiro stares at his wide eyes, recognizing the fear there. It had been the same way Keith had looked at him when he'd attacked him that one evening, only Shiro's mind is entirely in tact this time, lucidly witnessing everything while remaining helpless to stop it. 

Knowing that doesn't prevent him from trying to pry his arm away anyway, not wanting to choke Keith or break his throat, well aware how easily he could do either right now. 

"Sorry, Keith! I can't-!" he cries out after a few seconds. 

The frustration makes his words sound desperate and hoarse, and Keith's two hands dig in before he sees Keith's fingers also elongate into claws. They're nowhere near as big as sharp as they need to be, but he's pressing them in, trying to force him to loosen though they feel like a kitten's scratches against his skin. 

More of that eerie purple glow collects at his fingertips, expanding outwards, and he knows right then that he doesn't have much time left. Keith is going to die if he can't figure out how to stop this. He can't just stand there and watch it. His eyes are so open, wild, and wet that Shiro tries to will his own body with every fiber of his being to just let go and not kill him.

 _'Please,'_ he begs himself, feeling the tears still threatening to burst out from his tear ducts, _'Don't take him away from me, too.'_

His eyes squeeze shut as his body starts to shift completely, and it's the only thing he can do as the appendage warps with his transformation, remaining oversized, discolored, and monstrous. But at least, this way he can't choke Keith any more. 

Keith's body nearly sags once he's released, bruises already painting his throat along with very light burns, but Keith doesn't give himself time to rest or move as he barrels straight into him and knocks him on his back. He sees Keith's fangs looking larger than they ever had before, and they dig right into his right arm, pushing in so hard that Shiro feels the pain erupt along his nerve endings. There's blood there gushing forth, but Keith doesn't stop, growling around his skin as he bites and bites. It's what Shiro needs to wake him up completely, yank him out of despair, and remind him that this fight is far from over. 

When Keith pulls away, more blood flows down his chin, and he looks the least human Shiro's ever seen him. If he's honest with himself, he looks incredible, too, but he doesn't have time to fixate on that when Keith yells at him in a rasped out voice. 

"Stop lying there and get the door!" 

Shiro's body immediately rolls to a stand, ignoring the pain from his right arm as he throws himself against the door. He's a lot heavier as a wolf, a lot sturdier as well. These doors aren't built for that much impact like the plexiglass cells are, which is why they'd always been kept so heavily sedated in the operating rooms. 

Keith joins him soon after, ramming his own shoulder in until the two of them manage to bust the door off its hinges with their combined weight. Orderlies start to surround them, but Shiro jumps up and digs his fangs into one of their necks while Keith throws the other over his shoulder and slams him on the ground. 

"Have to keep going," Keith tells him, and he sees him pick himself up with unwavering strength before a voice stills them. The one from the speaker.

Only this time, the man is standing behind them, holding a remote control.

"You are a stubborn one, but I want my masterpiece back." 

His fingers move over the buttons, making Shiro shift back into his human form against his will as the the bones in his arm expand even more only this time the glow erupts into pure crackling lightning as he swings out towards Keith. It's only by a hair's breadth that the younger man springs back, having been ready for it this time.

 _'Good Keith,'_ he praises in his mind as he watches his lithe body tense and spring away when he swings again. 

Once again, he's lost control of himself, but he doesn't have Keith pinned down, so all he can do is trust Keith to dodge his merciless attacks. Fortunately, Keith's panic increases his agility to unforeseen levels, and he watches him roll out under his arm and appear behind him before kicking him behind the knees to bring him down. Right when he thinks Keith is going to jump him from behind, the younger man instead abruptly turns towards their observer who's been standing there the whole time watching intensely.

Keith becomes a blur in his field of vision, vaulting himself forward to tear the remote out of the Galran's hands and throw it as hard as he can to the ground. He smashes it without thinking and shoves the Galran against the wall shortly after, pinning him there so he can punch him across the face. 

Shiro can only watch as he starts to beat him with raw bloodied knuckles, hitting him again and again until the crack of bones becomes too sickening against his own ears. Keith only stops when he's pulled back by Shiro's unwavering grip, his body held up to his own chest while he watches the way Keith's upper torso heaves out with barely restrained rage. His own body feels unnervingly calm behind him for reasons he can't entirely justify to himself.

He should be angry. This man was responsible for the death of his pack mates. By all means, he should be reacting as Keith is, but …a part of him also realizes that killing him would only leave him with empty satisfaction. It won't bring back the lives that were taken. It won't undo what's already been done to his body. 

Keith's sneakers squeak roughly on the floor as he moves further away, and he spots Keith wiping his face on his own arm while trying to come back to his own senses. His own fingers move to check if the Galran is alive, only able to feel a faint pulse still going there. His touch then shifts along his name tag, having believed he had burned this name into the back of his brain at some point. 

_'Sendak.'_

Even reading it feels like acid sluicing through his mind. How did he ever forget? Had he wanted to put it all out of his head that badly? Everything had seemed simple for a while, sharing a bed with Keith, being immersed in his scent and his silent strength. He hadn't wanted to drudge all this up, but he knows there are more facilities like this. More Galrans out there. More captured wolves. There could be more monsters like him, too. 

It's a tough pill to swallow, but ignoring it nearly killed the one thing he has left to keep fighting for. 

"Do we leave him…?" Keith asks quietly.

"Yeah." 

Even if he somehow lives through this, he won't be in a good state. That does give Shiro some small comfort as he stands up. His arm has mostly morphed back into its original state, the mutations hidden once more, though without the remote, he doesn't know if it'll be triggered again or if he'll be able to control it. Eventually, he'll have to find someone to take a look at it for him, but he doesn't think of that right now. 

Instead, he glances over at Keith and lets his smaller frame lean on him so he can support his weight. Battered and broken, they start to make their way out, only stopping so Shiro can grab some clothes off a corpse so he can ride back to their shared home out in the middle of nowhere.

His arms gently rest around Keith as his hair tickles his face while the wind ripples through it. He buries his nose in the side of his neck and inhales quietly, wanting to brand this scent into himself forever. He wishes he could tell Keith how much of his sanity he holds in the palm of his hand, but he doesn't want to scare him into thinking he'll lose control again. It's bad enough he'd broken his promise about never hurting him. Even if it wasn't his fault, the guilt still weighs against the pit of his stomach like a sac of lead, and there's a bitter taste whenever he swallows that he tries to convince himself is just the remnants of the chemicals he inhaled while he'd been in the facility. 

When they finally reach home, Keith can barely carry himself over the steps and ends up on the nest of blankets, sprawled out like a drunk man as he breathes out through his mouth. He doesn't move for hours, sleeping until well into the next day, but Shiro can't find the same rest, keeping his eyes open and watching over him like he might disappear if he blinks too long. 

 

 **XVI.**

 

A year has passed since they'd invaded the facility together. Since then, they'd made the wise choice to leave the old house behind and travel on the road full-time. Keith had managed to find a good price on a used pick-up truck that Shiro could curl up in as a wolf and that he could also strap his bike to, leaving most of their other possessions with the house while they live like nomads.

They drive from state to state, taking odd jobs here and there and making enough to keep eating and paying off motel bills. When the weather and temperature are right enough, they settle for camping outdoors under the moon light. It's the happiest Keith has felt in a long time even though they still have Galrans coming after them left and right. 

Eventually, they reach the home of Dr. Holt far out west, an old friend of Shiro's who had also incidentally been one of the werewolves that Keith had rescued. He's an alpha like Shiro, though far more soft-hearted and kind. He's able to investigate Shiro's arm for him at last, though he can't fix it entirely or return it to normal. All he can do is modify it enough to make sure only Shiro can control it and voluntarily instigate his transformation. It's a small comfort, and the gentle old man lets them stay a few nights in his warm home with his family. Keith learns that Dr. Holt's son, Matt, used to be in the air force with Shiro and that his daughter, Katie, is some kind of genius, already attending college level courses at her age. 

When the two of them finally leave, they feel more at ease than they have in a long time, their stomachs still full from the first home-cooked meal they'd had in ages. 

"Don't worry," Shiro whispers to him as he walks next to him, letting his fingers brush lightly against his own as they leave the house further and further behind in the distance, "we'll definitely see them again." 

There's a fond smile tugging at Shiro's mouth that Keith wants to kiss, but he stops himself just so he can stare at it longer. They both continue side by side, traversing down the path to get back to the truck, though Keith stops as he peers outwards at the horizon. The full moon looks hauntingly beautiful in the sky tonight, and he grins to himself as he climbs a particularly high outcropping of rocks nestled by a small lake.

His own eyes glance back to look at Shiro who is watching him curiously.

"I always wanted to do this," Keith tells him before suddenly throwing his head back and letting out a loud and unbridled howl.

The sound of his own voice pierces loudly and sharply through the still night air, and he can hear Shiro's warm laughter as he approaches him. Just when he thinks the older man is going to mock him, he instead follows suit, head falling back, mouth open, howling with abandon at the full moon. 

-The End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick notes: 
> 
> a) Nachos are awesome, and I will hear nothing bad spoken of them.  
> b) Sorry everyone else that is not Shiro, Keith, or Hunk (who is awesome) barely appeared in this. I didn't know how to work them in without turning this casual porn fic into a giant novel. Feel free to imagine whatever they were doing behind-the-scenes.  
> c) I probably fudged up a thousand details in this so ignore all the mistakes and just embrace the love!


End file.
